Sight for Sore Eyes
by Deb3
Summary: 10th in the Fearful Symmetry series. An injury threatens to end Calleigh's career at CSI. And just how serious is Speed about his new girlfriend?
1. Default Chapter

Title: Sight for Sore Eyes  
  
Rating: PG-13.  
  
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and I'm only borrowing them. No infringement intended, no profit obtained. Breeze alone is my personal creation. She is a work in progress, and you will see more of her in the future. And thanks go to Marianne for previewing the first scene and giving it the Speed seal of approval. He's the hardest character on the show for me to get into, because we're absolutely nothing alike, so I'm a bit nervous that my muse has decided to branch off more extensively in that direction.  
  
Personal Writing Creed: I will NEVER in my life, under any circumstances, write a story that does not have a happy ending.  
  
Series Recap: Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, The Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed. All archived at Lonely Road.  
  
A/N: Beware, this one scores high on the angstometer. However, if you make it through this one, I promise, as a reward for enduring Framed and Sight, the next installment will contain no angst. Absolutely none. It is a one-parter that is pure fluff. Further preview of that story at the end of this one. Unlike most of the other Fearful Symmetry stories, Sight is cathartic. I've got a lot of imagination, but Calleigh's feelings here are not imagined. I only mention that because I think you would put it together by the end of chapter 2 anyway and wonder about it. If the feelings seem to go beyond fiction to reality, you're absolutely right, they do. Some factual details have been changed for the sake of the plot and to give poor Cal a break, but the thoughts are too real. I just needed to finish off something and mark it concluded, and writing about it is the best way I know to master it. Rest assured while reading this, all is well in real life and all will be well in fic life. Refer to my writing creed above.  
  
Dedication: Sight is dedicated to my mother, who was my unfailing anchor and encouragement last winter during the most frustrating three months of my life.  
  
***  
  
"Eyes of unholy blue."  
  
Thomas Moore  
  
***  
  
The roar of a motorcycle shattered the early Saturday morning calm. Along the desolate stretch of pavement sped a bike and its rider. She was leaning low into the wind of her own making, her medium length brunette hair wisping out beneath her helmet and thrown back in the force of her wake. The bike, like its rider, was only medium sized and unpretentious, the single bow to elaboration being the customized license plate. QK SLVR.  
  
The woman slowed the bike as it passed a fence corner, bringing it to a halt suddenly, spinning it around with no question that the machine would bow to her will over its own momentum. And it did. She sat in the road, waiting for the second motorcycle, which buzzed over the last hill after a few seconds and slowed as it approached her. She took off her helmet, shaking out her hair. She always looked windswept, even without an excuse, but at the moment she had one. She laughed as the other bike came to a halt facing her. "Gonna have to change your nickname, Speed."  
  
Speed grinned at her. "What would you change it to, Breeze?"  
  
"Tortoise, maybe."  
  
"The tortoise won that race in the end, you know." She laughed again and saluted him mockingly, scoring his point. He laughed with her. He had laughed more the last two months than he had in the two years before that, it seemed. She pulled on her helmet again and kicked her bike into action, not racing away this time, just riding. He moved his bike up beside her. The road was plenty wide enough, and there wasn't any traffic out here, anyway. That was why they had picked this straight, abandoned stretch of back road with no intersections to race.  
  
Speed caught himself studying the woman who rode beside him. They hadn't raced much, but she invariably won. And he knew why. Breeze specialized in calculated risks. She knew exactly how far she could push her machine and herself, beyond strict caution but not to undue recklessness. It was why she had won against all the men who had raced her. The cautious analyzers were left eating her dust, but the recklessly uninhibited were pushed beyond their limits and lost control, while she came from behind to claim victory. Speed himself detested risks, calculated or otherwise. For him, the bike was something he could be in control of. He did not want to ride beyond his comfort level. Gradually, though, over the last two months of dating this woman, he had started to wonder if there were calculated risks worth taking. And the fact that he was starting to wonder scared him.  
  
Breeze glanced across at him and shouted over the engine noise, not too loud now that they were just riding easily. "Want to go out to eat tomorrow night? My treat."  
  
"I really need to work. Stuff is behind at the lab."  
  
"It's the weekend. Come on."  
  
Speed felt his brakes coming on again. He was enjoying the progress of this relationship, but it was frightening, too. She had had last night. She would have tonight. Were three nights in a row too close to a serious commitment? He had never had a serious commitment who didn't leave him. "I ought to work one night this weekend. I've already missed last night."  
  
"Is your boss that much of a slave driver?"  
  
"He's pretty demanding."  
  
"You ought to introduce us some time."  
  
"I will." But not just yet. They had double dated with Eric, but Speed didn't want to insert himself and Breeze under Horatio's microscope quite yet. H might take the honors at work, but Speed refused to let his boss solve his personal life before he had finished processing all the evidence himself. "I've really got to work Sunday night, Breeze. Maybe next weekend."  
  
"Okay." She fell into silence, but she wasn't sulking. Speed liked how she would push but would back off at a roadblock sign, too. She was persistent but not annoying, taking the lead but not dragging him. He smiled, watching her, and she felt it and grinned back at him. "Race you to the next property line. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."  
  
"Breeze." The protest died. What was the point? She wanted to, and she was hard to detour. "Okay. Go."  
  
She waited courteously for the start signal, then accelerated smoothly, already pulling away from him in the first few seconds. He tried to make himself push the limits more and couldn't. She sailed away, rising over the next hill and out of sight. He knew he wouldn't be left behind, though. She would stop and wait for him. It always happened.  
  
It didn't this time. She reappeared over the hill, traveling quickly even for her, and her face was dead white. "Tim," she shouted as she came up to him.  
  
"What's wrong, Breeze?"  
  
"There's a body in the ditch over that hill." Speed instantly accelerated, making better time than he had in the race, and she matched him but, this time, did not go on ahead, keeping her bike by his side.  
  
***  
  
Horatio opened his eyes, trying to make himself wake up gradually. No use. His brain instantly came online, ready for the day. It's Saturday, he told himself. We were going to sleep late. You already slept late, replied another part of himself. Most people wouldn't call this sleeping in, he replied. But you aren't most people, he pointed out to himself. He rolled over softly and feasted his eyes on Calleigh, giving himself his favorite subject to think about while trying to let her get a little more rest. They had worked long hours last week on a tough case, finally nailing the suspect yesterday afternoon, wrapping up the evidence late last night. They had both been teetering on the precipice of exhaustion when they got home and had barely had the strength to stagger to bed. They had mutually agreed to sleep late for once. So why was he awake already?  
  
He memorized her face again. Soft strength, iron determination but with a delicate beauty when she truly opened her soul. She reminded him of sunlight. No, not sunlight as much as the northern lights. Aurora borealis. Shifting, shimmering, multicolored, bold and strong but artistically graceful, captivating the eyes of his heart. Calleigh.  
  
She always looked vulnerable in sleep. He loved watching her that way. It was the ultimate privilege she could grant, to allow someone to see her defenseless. He appreciated the honor with every fiber of his soul and hoped that he could return it with an abandon that matched hers. All his life, he had feared abandon. All of his risks had been calculated. The only contrast he had ever known was emotional collapse, when everything that mattered fell apart before his eyes and in his heart. Only Calleigh had taught him emotional freefall, surrendering everything only to discover safety and freedom, not ruin. The parachute of love was strong and unfailing, once he had made the jump.  
  
Her eyes fluttered and opened gradually. He filled her vision, as she filled his, the eyes connecting perfectly like matching puzzle pieces, blue to blue. What a delicious way to start the day, she thought. Horatio the first thing she saw every morning, as well as the last thing she saw every night. Waking up to find those incredible eyes watching her. She smiled lazily at him. "Morning, Handsome. What a life."  
  
He followed her train of thought perfectly. "Morning. So many wasted mornings before this."  
  
"Yep. And so many wasted nights."  
  
"Mmmm." He gave a low rumble of agreement. "Like last night. We were too tired to see each other by the time we got to bed. We'll fall back into the past if we aren't careful."  
  
"I'm not so tired now."  
  
He caught her in his arms, his grasp gentle but unyielding. "Neither am I." She wound her own arms around his back, capturing him, as he had captured her. And the phone rang. "Let the machine get it," Horatio growled. "It's Saturday." In spite of himself, though, he raised his head, listening intently as the answering machine in the kitchen started recording.  
  
"H, Speed. Pick up. It's important."  
  
Horatio rolled over and picked up the bedside phone. "I'll take your word on that for the moment, but I demand proof."  
  
"All you want." Speed's voice was somber. "Breeze found a body."  
  
***  
  
The Hummer pulled up, and Horatio and Calleigh exited. Breeze stood at a respectful distance, looking both upset and interested. Speed was kneeling by the body without touching it. "You got gloves?" Calleigh handed him a pair, and he snapped them on. "H, Calleigh, this is Breeze." He was already going in for a closer look at the body and didn't seem to register the fact that his introduction only included one out of three actual names.  
  
Horatio smoothly covered the omission. "Horatio Caine," he said, extending a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."  
  
"I've heard about you, too." She sized him up. Striking in appearance, especially the magnetic eyes, but the thing that intrigued her most was Speed's reaction to his arrival. Even while kneeling studying the body, Speed had straightened up slightly when Horatio arrived. Not in a stiffly military way - he was the least likely candidate to show military discipline she could think of - but subconsciously putting out an extra effort. He wanted to give his absolute best to his boss.  
  
Horatio, formalities dispensed with, turned to join Speed at the body. Calleigh smiled at Breeze. "I'm glad to meet you, too." She liked the look of this woman. A bit rough around the edges, windswept, but there was strength in the eyes. She could easily picture her with Speed. "I'm sorry to go all professional," Calleigh apologized, "but we have to. Did anyone call the police?"  
  
"Tim did right after he called you." Just then the police cruiser pulled up, and Adele exited, coming over to them.  
  
"Adele, this is. . . " Calleigh stopped, forgetting the actual name for a minute. Breeze fit so well.  
  
"Dana Silver." Breeze filled in the blank. Adele glanced at Horatio and Speed, still checking out the body. Speed was now snapping pictures.  
  
"You were out riding and just found him?"  
  
"Right. Just dumped there in the ditch, like somebody's trash." She shivered slightly. Calleigh gave her arm a warm squeeze.  
  
"Calleigh." Horatio's call was quiet but sliced easily across the gap between them. She smiled at Breeze and went over to him as Adele took over the questioning. Horatio looked up at her, already almost predatory in his focus on the case, like she had seen him so often. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"  
  
The man lay crumpled on his side, like he had just been rolled out of a car, exactly like somebody's trash. Three things jumped out at her immediately. First was the lack of any obvious wound. The second was the expression on his features, a convulsed grimace. Strangest of all, though, were the pinprick red spots on the skin. "Never. What would make him all spotty like that?"  
  
"We'll have to ask Alexx. Probably it's a side effect of some poison. Sure looks like a poison case. He died having convulsions."  
  
"Strychnine, maybe?"  
  
He shook his head. "I saw a strychnine case once. Once was enough. The convulsions and expression here aren't severe enough."  
  
"Are you serious?" she asked, although she knew he was. This man looked like he had died in agony.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. Strychnine is worse. It also has a strongly unpleasant taste. Unless Alexx finds a needle mark somewhere, he probably ingested this poison orally. Nobody would ever swallow strychnine unless it was in a capsule or such."  
  
"Why don't you think he took it in a capsule?"  
  
Horatio opened the man's mouth slightly, indicating a slight scratch on its roof. "That looks fresh. I think however he took it, he cut his mouth. That wasn't a capsule." He glanced at his watch. "Alexx should be here soon. I called her."  
  
"Well, we can rule out suicide," said Speed. "Unless he arranged for a friend to dump him in a ditch afterwards."  
  
"There are less painful ways to commit suicide, anyway," said Calleigh. She eyed those taut features again. Strychnine was worse than this? "So how do you take poison and cut your mouth at the same time?"  
  
"Put it on a fork?" Speed suggested.  
  
"We'll have Alexx double check the timing on that scratch. Also see if she can get any residue from it. Either metal or poison." Horatio stood up and looked up and down the road. "Not a single car has been by since we got here."  
  
"None since we found him," Breeze volunteered.  
  
Adele looked around herself. "Nice desolate place to dump a body. But they didn't want to totally conceal it. It had to be found here in a day."  
  
Calleigh had been patting down the victim, both looking for a wound and for anything else of interest. "Horatio, he's still got his wallet. It's in his back pocket, the one he's lying on." They rolled the victim gently and extracted it, and Calleigh handed it to Horatio. Adele came over to him as he opened it.  
  
"Roger Claridge, age 39. And an address. Also about $50."  
  
"Not robbery," said Adele.  
  
"Nobody poisons someone at a robbery," Speed pointed out. Alexx and the ME's van pulled up just then, and they all stepped back to allow the others room to work.  
  
"Alexx, what do you make of the red spots?" Horatio stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.  
  
She studied them carefully. "It can be a sign of some poisons. Arsenic, DDT, narcissus. And other odder ones. Not too many could cause it, though. I'll be sure to test for all of them."  
  
"Thank you, Alexx. Also, he has a scratch on the roof of his mouth. Was that there before death?"  
  
She pried his teeth open. "I can tell better back at the lab, but it looks like it occurred right around the time of death. It took something sharp to do that, too. Not like a knife, with a blade, but still sharp." She closed the mouth gently. "You didn't have an easy exit, did you?"  
  
"A fork?" Speed suggested again.  
  
"Maybe, but it's a deep enough scratch that there should be others next to it from the other tines."  
  
"A one-tined fork," he persisted.  
  
"You may have a few, but I doubt he did," Horatio pointed out, looking at the man's clothes. He wasn't wearing a business suit, but there was no lack of money here, either. "Okay, Alexx, let me know the autopsy results. Speed." He hesitated, looking at Breeze.  
  
"It's okay, sir," she said, the title coming naturally addressing him. "I'll just go on home. I've got my bike. Call me when you get finished tonight, Speed."  
  
"Will do." She was starting to get over the first shock of it, Speed thought. She usually called him Speed and Tim about equally, enjoying the way his nickname fit with hers, but she had only called him Tim since finding the body. Reassured, he grinned apologetically at her, and she returned it, then mounted the bike again. QK SLVR left the scene but moving slowly now, all racing forgotten.  
  
"She looks like a keeper," said Horatio.  
  
Speed instantly jumped back to the case. "So, I'll check for tire tracks, residue, anything else around here. Doubt there's much, though. I think they just rolled him out of the back seat."  
  
"There's bound to be something," Horatio said. "And it will be enough to nail the killers. Calleigh, go with Alexx to the autopsy. Make sure there isn't a wound somewhere to give us a weapon. Then track me down. I'm going with Adele to talk to the next of kin." His lips set together in a firm line. He absolutely hated talking to next of kin.  
  
"Okay. See you later." He and Adele left, and Calleigh walked over to Speed. "She does look like a keeper."  
  
"So, Alexx, find out anything yet?" Speed's remark darted away from Calleigh's comment.  
  
"Yes," she replied instantly. Speed went over to her.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Horatio is right. She does look like a keeper."  
  
"Stick to the case, would you? Remember the case?" Speed starting checking the road for residue, putting some distance between them, and Calleigh and Alexx grinned at each other over the body.  
  
***  
  
"Potassium bromate," said Alexx sadly, studying the preliminary lab reports. "I was afraid of that, after seeing his stomach lining. What a way to go. That explains the spots, and the internal ulcerations, and the damaged kidneys."  
  
"Potassium bromate," Calleigh repeated thoughtfully. "Where have I heard of that before?"  
  
"It's not as common anymore, but it's an ingredient in some neutralizers. Used in manufacturing cosmetics."  
  
"Ugh." Calleigh eyed what was left of Roger Claridge. "Almost enough to make you think about stopping using cosmetics. Almost."  
  
"It's actually harmless most of the time. There are far worse things in cosmetics."  
  
"Harmless?"  
  
"Unless it's taken internally. Potassium bromate reacts with the hydrochloric acid in the stomach and turns to hydrogen bromate, which is an extremely irritating acid. Unless potassium bromate gets to the stomach, it isn't dangerous."  
  
"It wouldn't react in the mouth?"  
  
"No. I'm still trying to work out the instrument on that scratch. Something sharp but not bladed. I am sure that it occurred right around death."  
  
"What form would that be in, Alexx? Could you put it on something and stick it in someone's mouth?"  
  
"Sure. It's a solution. And the stuff is highly toxic, once it hits the stomach. Dip anything into it and put it in the mouth, and it would be fatal without immediate treatment." She opened Claridge's mouth and studied the scratch again. "Maybe the scratch occurred when the convulsions started. If he still had whatever the instrument was in his mouth at that point, he could have grabbed at it desperately and cut himself getting it out because of the degenerating coordination." She gave the corpse a comforting pat on the shoulder.  
  
"What's the effective time?"  
  
"Five to twenty minutes." They both studied the body. "So he puts an unknown sharp object, which someone dipped in potassium bromate, in his mouth and leaves it there for five to twenty minutes. That still doesn't sound right."  
  
Calleigh shook her head. "At least it's a starting point. The boys can try to track availability. You can't just buy it over the counter, can you?"  
  
"No. It would be hard to find outside a cosmetics company, I would think. Don't hold me to that, though. I only give the method; the means is your job."  
  
"Thanks. I'd better call Horatio and fill him in." Her eyes sparkled a bit at the thought of calling Horatio, even strictly on business, and Alexx smiled at her with warm understanding. Calleigh pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial #1, glad that they could at least have open conversations now. "Hi, Handsome. We have some news for you." She reported all of the autopsy results.  
  
"Great. Have Alexx tell Speed and Eric. They can work on the chemical. I also have a few names to run through the computer." He gave them to her, and Calleigh wrote them down.  
  
"These are our vic's enemies?"  
  
"Right, according to his wife. One of them is his own brother. She says there was bad blood between them. I'm not sure I buy that brother being a murderer, but we'll check him out, of course."  
  
"Why don't you like him for a suspect?"  
  
"There's another brother, only this one is mentally retarded. The brother the wife named keeps him and looks after him. That shows compassion, and not many murderers have it."  
  
"I see what you mean. Are you and Adele going over to talk to him?"  
  
"Only me. Adele got called off on a breaking development on one of her other cases. She asked me to forge on alone." She heard the smile in his voice. Adele often protested, in a good natured way, that Horatio was trying to do her job as well as his.  
  
"That'll be hard on you, I know, but you'll just have to manage. Want some company?"  
  
"Depends on whose." He followed her thought but playfully pretended not to.  
  
"Mine."  
  
"Always, then."  
  
"Always." Calleigh's smile mirrored his, and Alexx grinned more broadly to herself, knowing that Calleigh wasn't paying any attention to her at the moment. How on earth had it taken those two so long to get together? Everyone in the office had seen their special link for years, a link that just wasn't there with other members of the team. At least they were together now. Finally.  
  
"I'm almost driving by CSI on my way to his house. Is five minutes too soon to start eternity?"  
  
"Not soon enough, but I'll try to hold out. See you then."  
  
"I'm counting the seconds. Bye for now." Horatio hung up, and Calleigh stood there for another second, holding the cell phone like the memory of the conversation alone would continue it.  
  
"Calleigh," Alexx asked patiently, "what was it he wanted you to tell me?" Calleigh's mind returned to her body with a jerk, and she started filling Alexx in.  
  
***  
  
Horatio brought Calleigh up to date as the Hummer crawled through the Saturday afternoon traffic. "Claridge's hobby is woodworking. He has a workshop separate from the house. Last night, he was working on a project there late, and his wife didn't wait up for him. They had separate bedrooms. When he wasn't there this morning, she assumed he had gotten up earlier and gone back to work out there. She had a hair appointment herself, so she got ready and left without looking for him."  
  
Calleigh stared at him. "You mean she actually never missed him until you knocked on the door?"  
  
He nodded. "They rarely talked, hardly ever ate together, even on the weekends." He glanced across at her. "What some people call marriage never ceases to amaze me."  
  
"That's not marriage; it's coexistence."  
  
"Coexistence with vows. That should mean something, call for some effort, anyway."  
  
Calleigh reached across and put a hand on his arm. "Horatio, everyone in the world isn't like you. It's wonderful that you think they should be, but it isn't going to happen." She squeezed his arm. "Don't you dare change, though." He seemed a bit edgy, unusually sensitive to the world's failings, even for him. "What's the matter?"  
  
"I'm not sure." The comment was completely honest. "I've just got a feeling, nothing I can explain, that something is wrong, or is about to be wrong, or something." He was less articulate than usual, trying to explain something that didn't make sense. Horatio detested things that didn't make sense.  
  
Calleigh was suddenly uneasy herself. Horatio's instincts were remarkably accurate, even when he couldn't explain them. "Just now, you mean? Talking to the wife?"  
  
He shook his head. "All day today. Since we left the house." His lips compressed slightly as he tried to track that feeling down and again drew a blank. "Anyhow, the wife. She admits that there had been distance between them. Said he was totally wrapped up in work. Most of the enemies she listed are work enemies. He was an executive. I took a quick look in the workshop. Nothing jumped out at me, but we'll get Speed and Eric to process it. It could be our primary crime scene. I locked the shop at the moment to secure it and took the key."  
  
"What about the brother?"  
  
"They were estranged. Hadn't spoken in two years, after Claridge told the third brother to his face they should put him in a home. According to the wife, he didn't think his brother qualified as a full person. Gregory Claridge disagreed. He and his wife were taking care of him themselves."  
  
"I can see why you don't like Greg as much as a candidate."  
  
His thoughts returned to the wife. "She said she just didn't notice her husband was missing. And it fit with her attitude. Not even angry at him for working so hard, just apathetic. She didn't even care enough to act like she cared he was dead. They shared nothing but the address." He looked across at her. "I hope I never stop noticing you, Cal."  
  
"You won't. Anymore than I would stop noticing you. I'll stop breathing first." His eyes went distant again, chasing out that tantalizing feeling that didn't make sense. To distract him, Calleigh told him about Alexx and the phone call. "She thinks we're cute."  
  
"We are." He kissed her hand as they were stopped at a light. "Speaking of cute, what did you think of Breeze?"  
  
"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it. She's just like him."  
  
"A bit more assertive, but they're awfully similar. I hope Speed doesn't let this one get away."  
  
"I think she's chasing him."  
  
He grinned. "I bet she's faster, too." They pulled up at the house. It was a large place with an extensive front yard and a high paneled fence hiding the back yard. Horatio and Calleigh walked up the sidewalk to the door. No one answered the knock, but the latch hadn't quite caught, and the door swung open as Horatio knocked again. Tentatively, they entered. "Miami-Dade Police," Horatio called. "Is anyone here? Mr. Claridge? Mrs. Claridge?"  
  
Calleigh looked around the large living room. "No lack of money in this place. Why would they leave their door unlocked when they go somewhere?"  
  
"There was a car in the drive." They circled the living room, studying the furnishings, looking for any signs of life. Horatio started toward the back of the house. "Is anyone here?" he called again. "Hello." Calleigh headed for the other exit, a side door leading to a hall, then stopped short with a gasp. Horatio heard her and whirled around instantly.  
  
A large man came out of the first door off the hall. He was at least 6 feet 3 and burly. From the back, he would have looked like a football player. From the front, Calleigh instantly realized that he would be more likely to play with blocks. The eyes were those of a startled child, the features slack. What drew their attention instantly, though, was the gun. He held an old pistol in his hands, leveling it at Calleigh. Her trained eyes instantly sized it up. Old, dusty, rusty, and uncleaned. It looked like it had been in an attic or on a closet shelf for years. If it was loaded, in that condition, it was as dangerous to the man holding it as to her. "Cat," he said, waving the gun threateningly toward Calleigh.  
  
"No," she said with forced calm. "I'm Calleigh. You must be . . . " She looked over to Horatio, not knowing his name.  
  
"Phillip," said Horatio. "You must be Phillip. We're with the police, Phillip. Is your brother around? Or his wife?" He started toward them with smooth strides, his voice silky, not reaching for his own gun. Phillip instantly tightened his grip on the gun and waved it at both of them. Horatio stopped. "We're not going to hurt you, Phillip. We just want to talk." His eyes sized up the gun's condition as quickly as Calleigh's had.  
  
Phillip frowned slightly. "You're not the cat? Burglar?"  
  
Understanding was instant. The Miami cat burglar, as the press had dubbed him, had stalked the city for weeks now, raiding only unoccupied houses, stealing only items that were easily fenced. There were never any witnesses, even when neighbors had been immediately next door and awake. There had never been any violence. His name was increasingly in the news, though, and Phillip had obviously heard of him, probably from television.  
  
"No," said Calleigh. "We're not the cat burglar. He only comes at night. We're the police." She oozed femininity suddenly. "And he isn't a woman. We just need to talk to your brother. Give me the gun, Phillip, so we can talk." She edged forward. He lowered the weapon uncertainly. Horatio held his ground, since Calleigh seemed to have a better connection with Phillip at the moment. He was listening to her. "We just need to talk to them about something, and then we'll go. And that gun is dangerous. You could hurt yourself." She was almost up to him now. "Come on, give it to me, Phillip. You don't want to hurt someone, do you?" He shook his head. "I didn't think so. Let me have it." He extended the gun slowly toward her, holding it sideways now, not pointing it. Calleigh stopped two feet away and started to reach for it.  
  
A door banged loudly in the back of the house, and Phillip, who had been totally focused on Calleigh, jumped, his fingers tightening reflexively, one of them hitting the trigger. The long-neglected gun blew up as the bullet exploded still in the chamber. The flash lit the hallway as the explosion echoed through the house. Calleigh was thrown backwards by the blast into the living room, and Phillip was tossed back down the hall a few feet.  
  
Horatio's heart stopped, even as his feet started. "Calleigh!" He was never aware of the steps it took him to reach her. He frantically felt for a pulse and relaxed a bit as he found a strong one. All vitals seemed stable. She had some minor burns on her hand and her face, but she seemed to have just been knocked out when she fell.  
  
"What the hell. . . Phillip!" A woman ran into the living room and froze, her horrified eyes tracking from Horatio to Calleigh to Phillip. She went to Phillip first, kneeling beside him. He was writhing on the hall floor. "Who are you? What happened?"  
  
"Miami-Dade Police. The door was open. Phillip apparently thought we were burglars, and the gun he had exploded." Horatio wrenched himself away from Calleigh long enough to assess Phillip. He looked worse. Of course, he had actually been holding the gun, which Calleigh hadn't yet. Both hands and arms were burned badly. "Mrs. Claridge, call 911 and get me some cloths soaked in cold water."  
  
She stood up, numbly obeying. Phillip's panicked eyes looked like a wounded animal's, unable to comprehend the sudden pain. He focused on Horatio in spite of it. "I didn't mean it, Mister," he gasped.  
  
"I know you didn't," Horatio assured him. His anger was at whoever had left a gun within Phillip's reach, any gun, cared for or not. It had been an accident waiting to happen, and it could have been triggered by something else if not by them today. "It's okay, Phillip." He patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.  
  
"Is she okay?"  
  
Horatio looked back at Calleigh. He could see her breathing steadily. "Just knocked out, I think." Phillip's expression was puzzled. "Yes, she's okay." He still wasn't sure himself, but it would calm Phillip down.  
  
Mrs. Claridge returned at that point with a bowl full of cold water and some washrags. "Soak them and put them on his hands and arms," Horatio directed. He headed back to Calleigh. All vitals still strong. She looked almost peaceful. He gripped her hand tightly, repeating his words to Phillip, trying to reassure himself. "She's okay. She's okay." But the uneasy feeling that had haunted him all day remained.  
  
***  
  
Horatio hated paperwork at the best of times. He especially hated paperwork now, while Calleigh disappeared through the ER doors. He told himself that it was helping her and tried not to snap at the triage nurse.  
  
"Is she allergic to any medications?"  
  
"No." Couldn't she write faster? Horatio fought down the urge to rip the clipboard from her hand and scribble the answers down himself.  
  
"Is she on medication for any pre-existing condition?"  
  
"No." He craned his neck, trying to see through the tiny glass windows in the swinging doors. And that was pointless. It only led to a hallway. He suddenly hated those doors.  
  
"Is there any chance she could be pregnant?"  
  
That one brought his full consideration. "Not that we know of, but you'd better run an HCG before doing any x-rays, just to double check."  
  
The nurse made another methodical note on the clipboard. "If you'll have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Caine, we'll let you know her condition as soon as possible."  
  
Horatio dropped into a seat in the waiting room, but his mind sprinted through the swinging doors, following Calleigh. She was stable, he told himself. Perfectly stable. Even the EMTs had seemed more concerned about Phillip. He felt a moment's sympathy for Phillip, who had been bewildered by the pain but showed more stoicism than a lot of people Horatio had known. Then his attention swung back, like iron to a magnet, to Calleigh. What was taking so long?  
  
A hand landed gently on his shoulders, and he looked up into Alexx's concerned eyes. "Any word?"  
  
"Not yet. She was stable, though. I think she was just knocked out by the blast." Alexx picked up his hand gently, and he realized that he had dug his fingernails clear into his palm while thinking.  
  
"What happened out there, Horatio?" He told her, and her sympathy widened to include Phillip. "Poor man."  
  
"Right. He was handing it over to her. Just a stupid accident, but it should have never happened. Who could leave a gun where he could get it?" He had more personal things than the case to discuss with Gregory Claridge when the chance came. Alexx saw the thought and stroked his hand gently.  
  
"Mr. Caine?" Horatio bounced up out of the chair to face the orderly. "I was told to give you a brief report. Your wife is perfectly stable. We're still running tests. One thing, though, the HCG came back positive. She is pregnant."  
  
Horatio's feelings somersaulted from worry to elation back to worry. "Is everything okay? How far along is she?"  
  
"About five weeks. And everything seems okay, from the child's point of view."  
  
His thoughts refocused on Calleigh. "Has she regained consciousness yet?" Surely, from simply being knocked out, she should be awake by now.  
  
"Um, well." The orderly stalled, and Horatio actually gripped both his arms painfully, ready to squeeze the answer out of him. Alexx gently pried him off. "She started to regain consciousness, but the doctor sedated her. He didn't want her awake until more testing was completed."  
  
That sounded wrong even to Alexx. "Testing for what? Why wouldn't he want her awake?"  
  
"The doctor will tell you more as soon as he can. We don't know everything yet. I have to go now." He retreated, still eyeing Horatio warily, and vanished through those hated swinging doors.  
  
Horatio collapsed in a chair. "Why wouldn't they let her wake up? I would think it would help in assessing for a head injury."  
  
Alexx didn't have any answers for once. "I don't know. I'm sure they had a reason." She stroked his arm again. "You didn't know she was pregnant, did you?"  
  
"No." His mental calculator switched on. "Five weeks. That would make her due in February." He smiled in anticipation. "We've really been looking forward to it. She'll be thrilled. When she wakes up."  
  
"She'll be okay," Alexx crooned. "Everything will be okay." She stayed there with him for another eternal half hour, and the doctor finally appeared through the swinging doors.  
  
"Mr. Caine? Your wife suffered a very slight concussion, as well as a few minor burns to the right hand and the face. She's perfectly stable. We have her sedated at the moment." He hesitated on the brink of his next remark.  
  
"Why didn't you let her wake up?"  
  
"We were afraid she would become too agitated, and we didn't want to have to explain things to her until we had the answers ourselves."  
  
"Explain what things? What is wrong with her?" Horatio's eyes nailed the doctor's, and the doctor retreated to his chart.  
  
"Her injuries are minor, except for one. She's blind." 


	2. Sight 2

Here's chapter 2. See chapter 1 for disclaimers, etc. Warning: On this chapter in particular, caution is advised for the elderly, the infirm, and those on heart medication. I do promise you a happy ending. We aren't there yet.  
  
***  
  
"Be near me when my light is low."  
  
Alfred, Lord Tennyson  
  
***  
  
Calleigh awoke to blackness. Not mere darkness, but blackness so weighty that she was instantly claustrophobic. She had thought she knew what darkness was, but this was an entirely different species. It threatened to crush her with its impersonal magnitude, bearing down on her from all sides, collapsing her body, but one warm point of contact reached through it like a beacon of feeling rather than light. Horatio's hand was locked securely in hers. She knew his hands, as she knew the rest of him, intimately, immediately, with no further proof required. Further proof came, though. "Calleigh. Welcome back."  
  
"Horatio." She squeezed his hand, reassuring herself. "What happened?"  
  
"The gun exploded. The bullet blew up in the chamber."  
  
"Right." She remembered it now. "Horatio, what time is it?" She knew as soon as she spoke that this wasn't night, though. It was as much larger as the sun is than a candle.  
  
"9:30 AM." He brought his other hand up to grip her hand between both of his. "Calleigh, the flash from the explosion damaged your eyes."  
  
She tried to pull her hand free, but he refused to let go. She brought her other one up to feel the bandage over her eyes with metallic eye shields and tape across the top. "Oh my God!" She tried to dig with one finger beneath the edge, to rip off the bandage, and he captured that hand, holding both now.  
  
"It won't help, Cal. I'm sorry." His voice shuddered in sympathy on the words. He had insisted on being the one to tell her himself, rather than the doctor, but the fact that it was right that way didn't make it easier. "They're hoping it's just temporary."  
  
"They're hoping? Just hoping? They're doctors. They should be able to do something."  
  
He brought her two hands together, almost as if she were praying, and wrapped both of his around both of hers to join her in her plea. "The flash burned your eyes. They're quite inflamed at the moment. The doctors want to give it a week or two, shielding them from light and using medicine to try to reduce the inflammation. When the swelling and irritation is down, and the burn has healed some, you might see perfectly well again."  
  
"Why bother shielding them from light? I can't see anything anyway." Her voice was bitter, but she didn't try to pull her hands away from his again. Those metallic eye shields were cold, almost as impersonal as the blackness. His hands were reassuringly warm.  
  
"It just gives them a rest. As the swelling goes down, they might try to start seeing with any stimulation. It's better to give them total rest to let as much healing take place as possible."  
  
"Horatio, be honest with me."  
  
"I am." She remembered a second after saying it whom she was talking to and gave his hands a half-apologetic squeeze. Of course he was being honest with her. "They don't know, Calleigh. They just don't know at this stage."  
  
Her mind grasped desperately for something else to think about, anything to try to hold that hovering blackness at bay. "Phillip. What about Phillip?"  
  
"He's got 2nd degree burns of his hands and arms. He was actually holding the gun. You weren't yet. He'll be okay, but he's got some healing to do. Poor man."  
  
"Does he have anyone with him?" She grasped Horatio's hands more tightly. She couldn't imagine being alone in this, and for Phillip, she realized, it was worse. His condition could not be fully explained to him.  
  
"His brother and his wife are there." A razor edge sliced across his voice, and a thin line of blood welled up in the tone before the wound was quickly concealed.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"You'd better get some rest, Cal. We can talk later."  
  
"Like hell. Talking is all I can do at the moment. Spill it."  
  
She had sounded more like herself there than at any point so far, and she heard the fond, sad smile in his voice. "You're ruining a lifetime of practice, you know. I can't hide anything anymore."  
  
"I'm not that blind. What's wrong?" Besides the obvious, but he knew what she meant. "Horatio, let me be useful for something."  
  
He instantly gave way. "Last night, when you had left the ER, as I was on the way to your room, I ran into them in the hallway. I asked after Phillip, and they asked after you. Then, Greg Claridge told me about the gun. It was his grandfather's, an old relic, and it had been on a closet shelf for years. He didn't even know Phillip knew where it was, didn't know it was loaded, never maintained it or checked it, never put a lock on that door. Then, he pulled out his checkbook and was going to write me a check to compensate for everything, he said."  
  
Calleigh's breath caught in her throat. "What did you do?"  
  
"I just looked at him for a minute, and he stopped writing. I was afraid to say anything, Cal. I finally told him that I didn't want to talk to him again, that someone else would come to interview him about the case. Then I walked off."  
  
Calleigh could imagine poor Greg Claridge, trying to buy his way out of his own negligence, nailed to the sterile hospital hallway floor by Horatio's laser glare. At least Horatio hadn't belted him right there. Thinking of those impossibly intense blue eyes, she suddenly realized that the last sight of her life might be a gun. How ironic. A few years ago, she would have thought it was appropriate, but now, as much as it would hurt, she wanted her last sight to be Horatio.  
  
His rich voice interrupted her thoughts. "I wanted to hit him, Cal."  
  
"It wouldn't undo anything."  
  
"I know. But I wanted to." He smiled suddenly, and she heard it in his voice. "You know what stopped me?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"If I got hauled down to the station for assault, you would have woken up here alone. It's all that kept me from giving him a personal boost clear into the ER."  
  
She smiled back at him. "I'm glad you were here. But now that I'm awake, don't go finish up with him."  
  
"I won't. Like I said, I'll let the others deal with him."  
  
"Maybe he'll learn something. He does care about Phillip."  
  
His voice was still angry. "Yes, he does. But it could have been prevented so easily, Cal." He pulled one hand free and picked up something, and in the next moment, she felt a straw pressed into the corner of her mouth. "It's water."  
  
She appreciated the notice, not to be left wondering what taste would reach her. She took several swallows gratefully. "Thanks. You said it's 9:30?"  
  
"About 10:00, now."  
  
The accident had happened about 4:00 Saturday afternoon. "Have you been here all night?"  
  
"Wouldn't be anywhere else." He set the glass back down and brought his hand back up to her face, stroking her hair softly, his other hand still in hers. "Cal, there's one more thing."  
  
"What?" Her throat tightened in anticipation of knowledge of more injuries. Yet there was no pain.  
  
"You're pregnant."  
  
The weight of that knowledge was even larger than the blackness but didn't make her claustrophobic. A new life. Horatio's child, inside her. "How pregnant?"  
  
"About five weeks. You haven't been feeling sick in the mornings, have you?"  
  
"No. In fact, I've felt great. Let's see, that would be. . . "  
  
"February."  
  
"February. Seems so long to wait."  
  
"I'm sure it will seem even longer in a few months." She smiled at him, but the smile abruptly froze and shattered, like ice hit with a hammer.  
  
"Horatio, what if I can't see? What if I never see our child?"  
  
"You will," he insisted.  
  
"But you said they didn't know, that they were just hoping it would come back."  
  
"Cal, trust me on this. You will see our child with a mother's eyes, whether you can see her physically or not. It won't keep her from appreciating you, or you from appreciating her. "  
  
She fell silent for a minute, absorbing his words, finally arriving at the last word when she had soaked up the full beauty of the others. "Her? It could be a boy, you know."  
  
"Somehow, I don't think so. It's not that I wouldn't want a boy. I just think it's a girl."  
  
"And what evidence are you basing that on, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Pure instinct. The evidence will be forthcoming, though."  
  
"If it is, we'll name her Rosalind."  
  
"Unless you'd rather name her something else."  
  
"I can't think of anything better. It's a lovely name." They sat there in silence and darkness for a minute, still holding hands. Though she couldn't see it, Horatio actually had his eyes closed, trying to imagine it, trying to share what she must be feeling. He couldn't do it. Light leaked in, even through closed lids, and he found himself resenting his own sight. "Horatio."  
  
He opened his eyes. "What is it, Cal?"  
  
"I'm hungry." And they both laughed together, and the laughter drove back the blackness a few scant feet.  
  
***  
  
Speed rolled up to Breeze's apartment building and dismounted from the bike. The elevator was waiting politely at the ground floor, ready for use, but he took the stairs up eight flights, wanting to punish himself somehow. Just a stupid accident, he reminded himself. Claridge caused it, not you. Right, but he was responsible for Calleigh and Horatio working that case. It had been the weekend. Speed could have, should have called the weekend shift on duty. He had called Horatio instead because, selfishly, he wanted the first string team on this one. Breeze had been rattled by finding the body. She was so unflappable usually, and Speed had suddenly seen an opportunity to impress her. Faced with the one area where he was absolutely sure of himself, where he could be the one taking the lead, not her, he had wanted to process that scene himself, while she looked on and admired his technique. So he had called Horatio, and Calleigh had been questioning witnesses on Saturday afternoon instead of lazily enjoying a well-deserved day off. Calleigh had always been like a sister to him. The thought of possibly not having her working around CSI ever again was too much to bear.  
  
He trudged up another flight of stairs and abruptly realized that he was at the tenth floor. Retreating two levels, he entered the hallway and knocked on her door.  
  
"S'open." The slightly muffled call still reached him. He opened the door and entered.  
  
"I could be a burglar, you know."  
  
"Nothing worth stealing," she mumbled. She was standing on top of a chair in front of her window, hanging curtain rods. He realized that her words were muffled because she had a mouth full of nails. She pulled out another one as he watched and starting pounding it in.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Hanging curtain rods. My mother's visiting next week, and she said she bet I wouldn't even have curtains in my apartment after living here almost three months. She's wrong." She removed the final nail from between her teeth, hammered it into place in the curtain rod holder, and jumped nimbly down to the floor, only to realize that he was staring at her with his mouth gaping like a fish. "What's the matter?"  
  
"You had nails in your mouth."  
  
"Cause I don't have three hands. Come on, Speed, I'm sure you've seen people do that before. Bet you do it yourself."  
  
"Our vic's hobby was woodworking. Alexx thinks he was killed when some sharp object dipped in poison was put in his mouth. I bet he put nails in his mouth while he was working."  
  
She stared at him. "You think somebody poisoned his nails?"  
  
"It'd be a great way to kill someone. You wouldn't have to be there, so they wouldn't suspect anything. And nails taste weird anyway, so he probably wouldn't notice anything slightly different if he was focused on his project. I'm meeting Eric today to process his workshop. We'll have to be sure to check the nails." He offered her the take out sack he was carrying. "Peace offering for last night." He had cancelled their planned date and spent the whole evening at the lab processing evidence, with one quick trip by the hospital.  
  
"Thanks. How's Calleigh?"  
  
"H called a little while ago and said she was awake. I'll go see her tonight. Give her a little time to deal with the idea first with just him there. About the long term, they don't know. It could be temporary, or it could be forever." The word sounded like a judge's sentence.  
  
"Did you find out anything last night?"  
  
"Whoever handled him was wearing red fingernail polish, so it's probably a woman. She scratched it on his watch getting him out of the car. We can match the brand of polish. The poison is a weird one, but he worked at a cosmetics manufacturing company himself, and that's where you'd find it. We'll have to check his work associates. And the car had a slight transmission leak and a new tire on the right front. We can match that, when we get a car to compare it to."  
  
She was looking at him like he was Sherlock Holmes. 24 hours ago, he would have relished it. "You're really good at this, Tim."  
  
"I've gotta go," he said quickly. "I'm meeting Eric at the workshop."  
  
"Okay. Let me know how Calleigh is when you see her." She kissed him, then opened the sack. "And thanks for lunch. You can be really sweet sometimes."  
  
"Yeah. See you, Breeze." He could also be really stupid.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh woke up from a dream that her child was crying and she couldn't find her. The blackness immediately crowded in, the reality darker even than the dream, and she lay there trying not to move. Horatio was still holding her hand, but she could tell from the slight slackness in his fingers and from his steady breathing that he was asleep, and she didn't want to wake him. After he had fed her lunch, he had encouraged her to get some rest. She had finally agreed, realizing suddenly that he had been up himself for well over 24 hours. Maybe, now that her original wakening was over with, he would fall asleep himself once she did.  
  
The blackness pressed in. She forced herself to lie still, not to tighten up her grip on Horatio's hand, knowing he would wake up instantly. The most frightening thing about this was how impersonal it was. This blackness wasn't trying to defeat her. It just didn't notice her, was so much larger that it would crush her without a thought, like a person stepping on an ant and never being aware of it. All her life, she had fought against being helpless. All lack of control in her life had been associated with pain. She would fight anything, refuse to yield, hating to go down for the count. She could even get stubborn about ridiculously minor points. Slaying lizards, Horatio called it. "Calleigh, slaying dragons is a noble occupation, but you don't need to waste time and energy slaying lizards." She could not fight this blackness, though. If she screamed and raged and threw things at it, it simply would not notice and would still press in, oblivious to her presence, much less her resistance. Nothing she could do would help. Horatio had even had to feed her, like a baby.  
  
She tried to focus on her other senses. The smell of the hospital was too much like that blackness. Sterile, impersonal, shutting her out. The sounds were those of people going about their work. Nurses' shoes clicked down the hall with efficient, businesslike strides, never faltering because they could see the path. Doctors walked with utter assurance, helping the other patients where they hadn't been able to help her. Occasionally a page sounded over the speakers. The air conditioning system whirred softly. She focused on Horatio's breathing, the only familiar sound near her. Steady, even, reassuring her that life went on, even through the blackness. The feel of his hand was familiar, too. The sheets of the hospital bed, however, were all wrong, too crisp, too cool, too impersonally sterile. Like that blackness. She suddenly wanted to scream, to hit some eject button and launch herself out of this hospital bed into some environment that she knew, even if she couldn't see it.  
  
Her fingers tightened before she could stop them, and Horatio woke up instantly, returning the grip. "You okay, Cal?"  
  
"Horatio, is there anything else wrong with me? Besides the eyes?"  
  
"A few minor burns, and you were knocked out, but not really. Everything else is inconsequential."  
  
"Then, please, can we get out of here? Can we go home? I need to be someplace familiar."  
  
She could hear the sympathy in his voice. "I'll ask the doctors."  
  
"Please, Horatio. I've got to get out of here."  
  
He stroked her hand soothingly. "Okay. We'll go home, then."  
  
Familiar footsteps echoed down the hall suddenly. Calleigh couldn't place whose they were, but she did realize that they were familiar. "It's Alexx," Horatio supplied, sotto voce, as the footsteps turned into the room.  
  
"Calleigh, welcome back to the land of the living." Alexx came around the other side of the bed, wafting a smell of Chinese food along with her. She put a warm hand on Calleigh's arm, squeezing it.  
  
"Thanks, Alexx. Did you bring something to eat? I just ate lunch already a little while ago."  
  
"This isn't for you. I assumed they had fed you. It's for Horatio." The sack crinkled as she handed it across, and Calleigh felt the trail of its warmth momentarily as it crossed the bed. "I was working it out, and I'll bet you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."  
  
"You're wrong," said Horatio smoothly. Calleigh could almost feel Alexx's dubious maternal glare.  
  
"When did you eat, then?"  
  
"I forgot to eat lunch yesterday. We were working the case, and Adele and I never got around to it."  
  
Calleigh pulled her hand firmly out of his to free it up. "Eat. You should have said something, Horatio. Sitting here all that time feeding me." All they had had for breakfast yesterday was a bagel grabbed as they bolted out the door.  
  
"You hadn't eaten since yesterday either." The sack rustled, and she heard the food containers being opened. Alexx kept her own hand on Calleigh's arm, as if she realized how important that one point of living contact through the blackness was.  
  
"How are you doing, Calleigh?" The voice matched her so well, Calleigh thought. Absolutely oozing compassion. You knew who Alexx was immediately, just hearing her.  
  
"I'm hanging in there. Not like I have much choice." She heard Horatio shift and stopped him before he could put something down to grab her hand again. "Keep eating, Horatio."  
  
"You're ganging up on me," he protested, but she heard the scrape of the fork against the side of the plastic container as he fished up another bite.  
  
"You'd better believe it," said Alexx. "Somebody's got to look after you. You never do it yourself."  
  
"That's not true," he said. "Just yesterday morning, Cal and I both decided to sleep in because we were so tired after last week."  
  
"And did you?"  
  
"No, we went out on this case. Okay, bad example."  
  
"Shut up and eat," said Calleigh. "Alexx, tell me honestly, what do I look like?"  
  
"Like a female version of the Lone Ranger, with a white mask across your eyes."  
  
"These metal shields aren't too weird? I feel like a bug. Or like C3PO."  
  
"No, they have white tape across the top of them. Looks just like bandages, not like a robot. It doesn't look as bad as it feels."  
  
"Thanks," Calleigh said, relieved. "I asked him, but he just said I still looked beautiful."  
  
"You do," Horatio put in.  
  
"Keep eating," sang out Alexx and Calleigh in chorus.  
  
"What's going on with the case?"  
  
Alexx brought Calleigh up to date, with an occasional aside to Horatio ("All of it. You're not done yet"). As she finished, Horatio set the containers aside and stood up, giving Calleigh's arm a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"I'm going to go talk to the doctors, Cal. Alexx will be here."  
  
"Go on," she said. "I'll be a lot better once we get home." He left the room, and she realized with a momentary surge of pleasure that she knew his footsteps. Even in the blackness, she would recognize them. As soon as he was safely down the hall, she said, "Alexx, how is he holding up?"  
  
"He looks half dead on his feet. I don't imagine he got any sleep last night."  
  
"He was sitting here with me." She shivered. "I would have hated to wake up without him here, though."  
  
"I tried to talk him into shifts, but he wouldn't do it."  
  
Selfishly, Calleigh was glad he wouldn't do it. "We're going home now. Once we get there, I'll make sure we go to bed early. I'll tell him I'm exhausted and just want to sleep in my own bed."  
  
"Are you sure you feel up to going home?"  
  
"I feel fine, just frustrated. But I'll go crazy here in the hospital. I've got to get someplace that's familiar." Alexx squeezed her hand. "Alexx, what do you think the chances are of me seeing again?"  
  
There was a long pause. "I'd hate to make a guess, honey. There are too many variables. They don't know how bad the damage is yet, and they won't for a little while. It's impossible to say right now. Either way is a realistic possibility."  
  
Calleigh relented. If Alexx could honestly give her a percentage, she would have. She switched subjects. "Horatio's convinced we're going to have a girl."  
  
"Have you talked about names?"  
  
"If it is a girl, we'll name her Rosalind, after his mother." Calleigh felt Alexx's hand twitch sharply in hers suddenly. "What's wrong?"  
  
Alexx hesitated for a minute, then said, "I found his mother's case file recently. I saw those pictures." She left Speed and Eric out of it for the moment.  
  
"Don't ever mention that to him, Alexx."  
  
"I don't intend to. How is he doing, though? What a thing to happen to a 17-year-old kid!"  
  
It was Calleigh's turn to hesitate. "He's dealing with it. I doubt he'll ever totally get over it, but we're making progress. He still dreams about it sometimes, but it's getting less often." All except for the first week of April, but she wasn't about to open that can of worms, especially not with Horatio's feet approaching down the hall again, even though she suddenly suspected that Alexx knew more than she was telling. She changed the subject again. "February seems so long to wait." She suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude toward Alexx, letting her have a normal, friend-to-friend conversation instead of treating her like everything had changed.  
  
"It will be worth it, though," said Alexx. "To hold your own baby. One of life's top moments, Calleigh."  
  
Horatio re-entered the room. "Okay, we can go. Will you give us a ride, Alexx?"  
  
"Gladly."  
  
"Did the doctors put up much of a fight?" Calleigh wondered.  
  
"Not too bad. Only lizards, not dragons." Calleigh burst out laughing, and Alexx smiled at Horatio. He understood how much laughter helped. Alexx only hoped they could keep laughing. Calleigh had a long, hard road ahead of her, and going home wouldn't change that.  
  
***  
  
Eric pulled open the workshop cabinet and whistled softly. Nails of all sorts and sizes were there. "Look at this, Speed. How could anyone know which ones he would use that night?"  
  
"Maybe they didn't. Just figured he would get down to the poisoned ones sooner or later."  
  
"Then they'd have to keep checking by to see if the body needed to be dumped. That's getting too risky. You realize that the nails we want are probably the ones that aren't here. The killer would have taken them. Unless they're all poisoned." He started collecting samples to check.  
  
"Maybe we're going about this wrong," said Speed. "If he had nails in his mouth when the convulsions started, he would have fallen, and they would have rolled. Maybe the killer missed one cleaning up." He knelt and started peering under tables and tool boxes. Eric's cell phone rang. By the time he had finished the conversation, Speed was halfway down the room. "Who was that?"  
  
"Alexx." Eric started working around the room the other way. "She took H and Calleigh home."  
  
Speed straightened up abruptly under a table and banged his head. "Damn. Should she be going home yet?"  
  
"Alexx said she wanted to be some place familiar." Eric shook his head. "Can you imagine that, not seeing anything?"  
  
Speed had been trying to most of the day. "No."  
  
"Anyway, Alexx wanted us to not go over there tonight. She said they both needed some rest." He gave a soft sound of victory suddenly and scrambled underneath a sawhorse, picking up a nail. "Got it, Speed."  
  
"Could be a random nail."  
  
"It's got blood on it." Speed came to join him, studying the nail. "I bet this is the one that cut him."  
  
"Must be." Speed looked around the shop, judging distances. "So I process 25 feet on my hands and knees while you're on the phone, and then you process 5 feet and find the murder weapon."  
  
Eric flashed a grin. "What can I say? I'm talented." He put the nail into an evidence envelope and returned to the nail cabinet. "Now, then, we see if the box that nail came from is here." He double checked size and length. "Nope. Every other size nail in the world, but no box of those. That's got to be it. And the killer took the box. She just missed this one."  
  
"One's all it takes to nail her," said Speed.  
  
"You've been rehearsing that line since we started here," Eric accused.  
  
Speed scowled at him and went over to the door, looking out. The driveway branched, part going to the house, part to the shop.  
  
"Slight transmission leak. We can put the same car here that was at the ditch." He glanced at the house. "That can't be 40 feet. You'd think a car pulling in at night would be noticed."  
  
Eric joined him in the doorway. "From what H said, she wouldn't notice the Marines marching up the driveway. She didn't even notice her husband was missing. And women say we don't notice things."  
  
Speed shook his head. "You can never figure out women."  
  
"Takes a higher tech lab than we've got," Eric agreed. "Let's get back to CSI with this nail. Since we can't see Calleigh tonight, we might as well work. Or do you have a date?"  
  
"No," said Speed. "Let's go." They relocked the shop and headed for their Hummer.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh and Horatio sat at their kitchen table, eating the soup that Alexx had heated up before she left. Calleigh felt a little better. The sounds and smells here, the feel of the chair, were familiar. And she was at least feeding herself this time. Even as she thought it, she reached for her glass, misjudged where she had left it, and knocked it over.  
  
"It's okay." Horatio jumped up, returning with paper towels to mop up the spill. "I've got it."  
  
Calleigh dropped her spoon into her bowl, suddenly losing all appetite. "Is this what it's going to be like?"  
  
"No." The conviction in his voice was rock solid. "You'll adapt to it if you have to. And you may not have to."  
  
The future suddenly loomed too large to be faced at the moment. "Horatio, could we just go to bed? I feel like I've dealt with as much as I can today." And he was exhausted himself, she knew, even though he wouldn't admit it.  
  
"More than anyone should have to deal with in one day." He pulled her up and kissed her forehead gently, over the bandage. "It will be all right, Cal," he promised her. They headed down the hall, her hand locked in the crook of his elbow. He sat her down on her side of the bed, and she started to undress. At least she could do that still, and she was grateful to him for not doing it for her. When she was done, she climbed into bed, settling between her own familiar sheets. She suddenly was exhausted herself, even though she had suggested this for his sake. She hated losing the physical contact, but she could hear him moving around, getting ready for bed himself, and soon he climbed in beside her. She snuggled against him, relieved that they were no longer separated by hospital bed rails. The warmth of him reached through the blackness and thawed her fear a bit.  
  
She backed off suddenly and reached up, letting her hands travel across his face. He held perfectly still, realizing what she was doing. There was nothing sexual in it, just reassurance that she knew him, that in the darkness she wouldn't lose sight of what he looked like. Her hands explored carefully, tenderly, with an infinite care for detail that she had never bothered to utilize touching him before. The firm chin, the sensitive lips. She reached his nose. Some people had a chin of character, as he did himself, but he also had a nose of character, she thought. Straightforward, unyielding, honest. She ran her fingertips over his beautiful eyes, gently pressing on the closed lids, feeling each of the lashes. She could also feel the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, like the ones at the corners of his mouth. Battle scars from his war with the deceit in the world. She rubbed his temples gently, feeling the tension in them. He really was exhausted. She felt the 4-inch scar down the very right edge of his face, like a brand signifying compassion and selflessness. It wasn't as noticeable in appearance after a year, but she still loved that scar. Thinking about it, she let her hands travel further back, through the silky red hair, finding the other scar on the right side, just behind the first one, hidden by his hair but obvious to feel, where the doctors had removed a piece of his skull after the bridge collapse to repair the damage and then reset it with bone clips. Her hand paused there, then explored farther, feeling out the shape of his noble head, the thick silkiness of his hair. Finally, her two hands met behind his head and locked, and she pulled it over against hers. Yes, she knew him. Every inch of him. And she might never see him again.  
  
It was this thought, larger than all other thoughts of the day, that suddenly broke her down. And it was then that she discovered for the first time that she couldn't cry. Her eyes had medicated ointment in them which the doctors had added to twice already that day, and Horatio would have to do it again in the morning. It was spread thickly across her eyes, making them feel like they were coated with a half-inch thick layer of jelly, and either that or the inflammation and damage prevented the flow of tears. Her shoulders quivered, but the tears would not spill over. The blackness dammed them up effortlessly, impersonally. "I can't even cry, Horatio," she whispered, and the tears reached her voice at least, even if they could not find their way out. He wound his arms around her tightly, crushing her gently to him, and she felt the sudden dampness against her forehead over the bandage and knew that he was crying for her. 


	3. Sight 3

Part 3. See part 1 for disclaimers, etc. Enjoy! I'm off to dress rehearsal. I'll try to finish this by the end of this week. Probably only one more chapter.  
  
***  
  
"I do not ask to see the distant scene, One step enough for me."  
  
John Henry Newman  
  
***  
  
Calleigh woke up from a delightful dream where she could still see. The effect was like waking up from a nightmare in reverse, realizing that the cold-armed blackness was in fact the reality and her normal activities of life the dream. She lay there for a minute collecting her courage. Horatio was sound asleep against her, and she focused on him, the even rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of him, the certainty that at least she was not alone.  
  
The clock in the living room chimed once, leaving her totally disoriented. It struck out the full value of the hours, but it only gave one chime for the half hours. That meant it was something-thirty. But what? She strained her ears but couldn't hear any traffic. Was it morning yet? Still the middle of the night? The digital clock on the nightstand would have told her at a glance a few days ago. How on earth had she ever taken so much for granted?  
  
She became aware that she needed to use the bathroom. It was down the hall and to the left from here, she knew, but the pathway suddenly stretched in her mind like train tracks clear to the horizon. She could wake up Horatio, and he would take her, but he had been so exhausted the night before that she hated to bother him. Of course, it could still be the night before, for all she knew. She decided to wait until she knew what time it was. 30 minutes before the clock would strike. She spent them lying there trying not to sweat, trying to keep her heart rate down. People live like this all the time, she told herself. Lots of people are born blind. People go blind. They deal with it and go on. Helen Keller was deaf and blind. Still, no inspirational story she had ever read of obstacles overcome had mentioned the pressure and presence of this blackness. She had always assumed that being blind simply wasn't seeing, not that it meant something hovering over you trying to crush you. She even had to keep her head unnaturally still, adding to the feeling that she was trapped. She had quickly discovered last night that those hated metal eye shields would bite into her cheekbones if she turned her head to the side and compressed them against the pillow. Anything metal that close to her skin should warm up, but they remained cold somehow, defying physics to side with that cold blackness.  
  
She wound up counting off the seconds, assembling them into minutes, finally assembling the minutes into a half hour, then starting over again when she realized she must have been counting too fast. Finally, the clock chimed three. She could safely assume it wasn't 3:00 in the afternoon, or she could have heard traffic. So it was 3:00 in the morning, and there was plenty left of this night to get through. Not that daylight would be any different for her, but she wasn't going to wake up poor Horatio at 3:00 AM just because she had to use the bathroom.  
  
Calleigh swung the covers back and stood up as softly as she could, suddenly feeling dizzy just from lack of sight. She found her way to the end of the bed, using the feel of the mattress against her leg as a guide, then turned to cross the gap to the bedroom door. She misjudged it and walked smack into the dresser instead, biting back a curse. She stood there for a minute, one hand on the dresser, the other rubbing her stinging thigh. Horatio's breathing was still even. Finally, she moved out again, keeping one hand on the wall now that she had conveniently found it. Out the door with tentative steps, hesitating to trust the floor to be there. She shuffled her way down the hall and found the bathroom door. Returning to the bedroom a few minutes later, she followed the wall to the end of the dresser, then struck out across the gap to the bed. It wasn't there. She took another tentative step, then another, hopelessly lost at sea in her own bedroom. Finally, she ran into the corner of the bed. A few inches to one side, and she would have missed it and gone on to the far wall. At least the bed hurt less to run into than the dresser. She found her way down the side and climbed back under the covers, snuggling down against Horatio, her spirit utterly wrung out by the journey. I'm a grown woman, she thought, and it just took me fifteen minutes (I think) and one bruise to go to the bathroom by myself. Is this what life will be like from now on? No, she answered tentatively, but the blackness crowded in closer, not even noticing her defiance. She felt tears rising in her throat again and mercilessly shoved them back down. She wasn't even going to try to cry again. She refused to face her inability to do it. The tears retreated obediently. Counting that much as a small victory, she finally drifted off to sleep again, and once again, she dreamed that she could see.  
  
Horatio let his own eyes fall shut again as soon as he was sure she was asleep. He had woken up the minute she got out of bed, of course, and he had forced himself with clenched fists to lie there and keep breathing evenly. Trying to help her would only humiliate her further, so he had forced himself to do the hardest thing in his nature - nothing. He looked at the digital clock. 3:40. He suddenly felt a surge of gratitude at his own ability to see the clock, and he opened his eyes again to repeat the experience. Still, he wished with all his heart that he could somehow trade places with her. He finally drifted off to sleep again, and once again, he dreamed that he was blind.  
  
***  
  
The next time Calleigh woke up, she knew it was morning. She could hear the traffic coming to life. A car door slammed somewhere up the street. Another person was heading out to a routine day at work, never thinking that the whole world could turn upside down so quickly, that just one second could change a lifetime. Look around you and notice it, she thought. Tonight, you might not be able to. It could happen.  
  
A thought suddenly froze in her mind, spreading ice from there to her entire body. Horatio was supposed to go to work today. Obviously, she couldn't go herself. A blind ballistics expert was worse than useless. But Horatio could not simply spend the rest of his life harnessed to her like a 6-foot guide dog. Even if he stayed home today, he would have to go eventually, leaving her here alone. Alone with the blackness.  
  
"I'm not going to work today," he said softly, startling her.  
  
"I didn't realize you were awake. How did you . . . "  
  
"Your whole body tightened up. Something was scaring you stiff there, so I took a guess at what it might be."  
  
She rolled over to face him, for all the good that did, and immediately rolled back as the metal shield on that side bit into her face. "Horatio, you can't spend the rest of your life baby-sitting me."  
  
"It's not baby-sitting. It's called marriage," he quoted.  
  
"That's not fair, throwing my own words back at me."  
  
"They're good words. They deserve to be repeated. I'll be here as long as you need me, Cal. You've been there for me so much; it's just my turn this week. It may be your turn next time."  
  
She fumbled for his hand under the covers and found it, intertwining her fingers in his. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"  
  
"You were yourself. That's more than enough to deserve me." He rolled over himself and kissed her gently. They lay there in silence for a minute.  
  
"This may not be just this week, though. What if I never see again, Horatio? You can't spend your life tied to me 24/7. I've got to learn to deal with it eventually."  
  
"Calleigh, don't worry about eventually until we know if we need to. We don't have to plan the rest of your life this week. Just getting through this week itself is going to be bad enough. Don't expand it."  
  
"I've got to know if I can or not. I've got to do something. I can't just lie here, or it will crush me."  
  
He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. "What will crush you?"  
  
"The blackness. It isn't just not seeing, Horatio; this is like it's alive. It presses in all the time."  
  
"And it's trying to crush you?"  
  
"No, it's just doing it anyway. It doesn't even notice me. It's so much bigger that I feel like an ant on a sidewalk." She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her warmly. "I'm afraid this is going to drive me crazy. Even just a week or two of it." She hadn't realized it until she said it, but that was her biggest fear. She felt dangerously near the breaking point.  
  
He considered that for a minute. "I think I know some of what you mean."  
  
She sat up herself, pulling herself up in bed and propping her back against the wall. "Really?"  
  
"After that bridge collapse, the worst part was the first weeks when I couldn't do anything. Not just that I wasn't supposed to, but I couldn't. Every little movement hurt. Even breathing hurt. So I just had to lie there as still as I could and try not to scream. I even wound up counting off seconds and minutes sometimes."  
  
She half-smiled at him. "I was doing that last night. Horatio, what time is it?"  
  
"8:15. I can't imagine what you're going through, Cal, but I do know how terrifying it is to feel totally helpless. I understand that much."  
  
She leaned against that understanding, propping her soul up on it. "Thanks. That helps, some."  
  
He squared his shoulders, and she heard his general plotting the battle strategy tone come into his voice. "So here's what we're going to do. We aren't going to plan for the rest of your life this week, but we will try to get you past some of the helplessness. We'll make that blackness notice you, at least, even if it's still bigger."  
  
"But what if my sight doesn't come back? Horatio, I can't do my job if I'm blind. I'll have to resign from the force. It's all I've ever known."  
  
"Calleigh, have you ever heard of Hannibal?"  
  
"Rings a vague bell. He fought against Rome, right?"  
  
"Right. He was the general who led the army from Carthage. Brilliant strategist. While Rome was expecting Carthage to attack across the Mediterranean, since they were almost opposite each other, Hannibal took his army, including the war elephants, around the long way instead. He crossed the Alps on foot, with elephants, without a road, and he surprised Rome by attacking from the north, while they were waiting to be attacked from the south. What always stuck with me, though, was how he did it. You know how he got his army through the Alps?"  
  
She wasn't sure where this was headed, but he had her interest caught. "How?"  
  
"100 feet at a time."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He never told them how far it was, or how high, or how many mountains were in the way. He knew that was too much to deal with at once. They would look at those mountains, and it would seem impossible. They would feel too small. So all he asked them to do was 100 feet at a time. They would advance for 100 feet, then stop and mark the progress, and he would praise them. Then another 100 feet, then another. No matter how frightening the horizon looked, they could always manage just another 100 feet. He never let them focus on the big picture, but they made it all the way, 100 feet at a time."  
  
She nodded slowly. "You're saying we only have to do 100 feet this week."  
  
"Right. But it will be progress, not just waiting helplessly for life to start again. And if we do end up having to cross the mountains, we'll do it. We'll already be started. We can make it, Calleigh, however far we have to." He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back, squeezing him with all her strength. "First off, I'll get an old battery operated clock with hands. I think I've got one in a drawer somewhere. I'll pry the face cover off, and you can feel the hands, so you'll know what time it is."  
  
She gave a sigh of satisfied anticipation. Just to be able to know what time it was seemed like 100 feet itself. "I like it so far. You're right, that's progress. And that's the first 100 feet?"  
  
"No," he corrected. "That's barely the first 5. We can do a lot more for you right now." He started outlining strategy, almost like he was briefing the team at CSI, and Calleigh slowly felt some warmth start to spread through her. And the blackness actually turned its massive head slightly and took brief notice.  
  
***  
  
Adele was questioning Gregory Claridge at his house. She tried not to see the scorch marks in the hall, the burned plaster where the gun had exploded, but wherever her eyes went in the living room, they somehow migrated back there. "Your brother's wife said you hadn't spoken in years."  
  
"Right. He actually told Phillip that he needed to be in a home. There were other issues, but we would argue about that one a lot, me saying that he was perfectly safe and loved here, him saying he was in the way. His telling it to Phillip was the last straw. I told him to get out." It suddenly struck him that Phillip hadn't been perfectly safe here, and he looked at the scorched wall himself and gulped. Adele felt a brief flicker of sympathy for him, but it died before the ember could burst into a flame. Sometimes as a cop, she wondered if bringing the well-intentioned obliviously careless to their senses would almost make as much difference as catching the criminals. So much damage in the world was caused by "accidents" which weren't accidents at all but carelessness.  
  
"How is Phillip?" she asked.  
  
"He's confused, but he's really being brave about it. My wife is with him now. We've got one of us with him all the time. How's Mrs. Caine?"  
  
"She's at home now. The blindness might be temporary, but they don't know at this stage." She wrenched her own thoughts away from Calleigh and back to the original case. "You said there were other issues between you and your brother. What other issues?"  
  
"He was having an affair with his secretary. I told him that wasn't how our mother raised us, and he said it didn't matter, that his wife wouldn't care if she did know. There's money in our family, Detective. His wife married him for that, and he said that's all she wanted, not him."  
  
This was new. Adele made a quick note to herself. "How do you know they were having an affair?"  
  
"I ran into them in a restaurant several times or just out together when he was supposed to be working late. He never denied it himself when I asked him."  
  
"Did his wife know?"  
  
"I don't know. He's right; she really wanted the lifestyle. She never objected to all the hours he was gone."  
  
"What is his secretary's name?"  
  
"Linda something. I don't remember the rest of it. I'm sorry."  
  
"Doesn't matter. We can find it out." Adele switched tracks. "What were you doing on Friday night?"  
  
"The three of us stayed up late. Phillip wanted to watch the Sound of Music. He always loved the songs with the kids. After that, we went to bed."  
  
Adele believed him, but she had to go through the motions. "I'd like a word with your wife."  
  
"Of course. I'll go back to the hospital and take over there, and you can go have a cup of coffee in the cafeteria or something." He stood up and hesitated, looking at the burned plaster again. "Will there be any charges about the accident?"  
  
Adele stood up herself, suddenly wanting to shake him and tell him it wasn't an accident. "I doubt it. Stupidity isn't illegal." He flinched, not meeting her eyes, and they both walked out in silence to their respective cars.  
  
***  
  
Speed was looking at the same piece of evidence he had been looking at 20 minutes ago. He nearly jumped under his microscope lens when Alexx approached softly behind him. "What's bothering you?" she said softly.  
  
"What do you mean? Just thinking about Calleigh, like the rest of us." He retreated behind activity, actually processing his sample now.  
  
"You can't fool me. Even Horatio can't, and he's better at trying. What's bothering you?"  
  
Speed reluctantly decided that he was trapped. Alexx was relentless when she got started. She had him on her table now, and she wouldn't leave him alone until she had thoroughly dissected his mood and come up with a diagnosis. "I just wish Calleigh hadn't been working that case. It was the weekend, you know. She really had the day off."  
  
"Who would you rather have had working it instead?"  
  
He looked up from his sample, startled. "What?"  
  
"You had nothing to do with that accident. It would have happened anyway. If Calleigh hadn't been there, someone else from weekend shift would have. So who would you pick? Probably, it would have been either Larry or Mike out working with Adele. Larry's got twin toddlers. Mike is getting married in a month. So which one of them do you want to be blind instead?"  
  
"No one. I just wish it hadn't happened to anybody, okay?" What was she putting him through this for? Couldn't she just leave him alone?  
  
"Exactly." Alexx gripped his arm lightly but firmly. "Look at me. You aren't really wishing it had been someone else instead of Calleigh. You wish it hadn't happened at all. And that's something you had absolutely no control over. No matter who you called when you found the body, somebody would have gotten hurt. Calling the weekend shift instead of Horatio wouldn't change that. It wasn't your fault, Tim."  
  
He considered it, processing his way slowly through that. "I hadn't thought of who else it could have been."  
  
"It would have happened anyway. You couldn't have stopped it."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "Wish I could have, though. I didn't know Larry had twins. So do you know the details about everybody's personal life who works here?"  
  
"Of course," Alexx replied. "Including yours. Breeze really is a neat woman."  
  
"Would everybody just. . ." Speed started, and his cell phone rang. Glad of the interruption, he answered it. He snapped it closed a few minutes later. "I've got to go, Alexx. Adele's going to Claridge's office to question his secretary, and she wants me and Eric to process the place. By the way, we found the murder weapon. It was a nail. Had traces of the poison and his blood on it. He put nails in his mouth while he was woodworking, and somebody had poisoned them."  
  
"A poisoned nail. That's a new one."  
  
"Yeah. No lack of variety in this job. See you, Alexx." He headed off with his usual slouching gait. He never showed much expression, but there was a little less tension in him than there had been. Alexx, smiling, switched gears from her unpaid job as CSI's counselor to her paid one and headed for the autopsy bay.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh took a step tentatively and stopped as Horatio spoke from the other end of the hall. "That's too small a step, Cal. We counted them as full length steps. It won't work if you take short ones."  
  
She took a longer one but angled it slightly as she hesitated and clipped the wall. Horatio flinched more than she did. "Here, why don't we try this? I'll walk in front of you. That way, you'll know the floor's there." His voice approached down the hall as he spoke.  
  
"How did you know it feels like the floor isn't there?"  
  
"Watching you. Your feet don't want to come down. It looks like a person going down a staircase in the dark. Only these aren't stairs, Cal. Perfectly flat, stable floor. Come on." He turned her around and walked her to the end of the hall again. "Okay, now, let me get one step in front of you, then follow. Eleven steps from one end of the hall to the other." He gave her arm a quick squeeze before he let it go, then started.  
  
That did work better. Calleigh could feel his presence just in front of her, even though they weren't touching. She forced herself to step out confidently into the blackness, not shortening stride. Eleven steps, focusing on keeping straight, and she stopped. "Is that it?"  
  
"Perfect. You're right at the living room." He came back to her. "Okay, turn around, and let's go the other way." Eleven steps, and they were at the other end. "The bedroom door is just on the left here. The guest bedroom is on the right." He closed the gap and picked her up suddenly in a powerful hug, lifting her feet clear off the floor. "We'll have to stop calling it the guest bedroom, you know. We'll make that the nursery. For Rosalind."  
  
"You know, we might have a very confused son when February gets here."  
  
"Trust me," he said, his incredible voice reaching out and wrapping around her like a warm blanket in the cold blackness, inviting her to trust him. She leaned over and kissed him, the fact that he was holding her six inches off the floor making the operation much easier.  
  
"Always," she said, when she finally broke away. "Put me down, Horatio."  
  
"Why?" He pulled her closer.  
  
"Because you're getting me sidetracked. We have to learn 100 steps of this house, we decided, and we're only at 11." She felt herself descending gently, landing securely on the floor.  
  
"Sorry, you're so distracting. Anyway, you're not counting right. We've been up and down this hall five times so far in all. That's 55."  
  
"Wrong," she said. "Hannibal only counted each step once."  
  
She heard the smile in his voice. "Okay, you win. Our score stands at 11. Plus 5 bonus points for the clock."  
  
She actually found herself laughing again. Bless you, Horatio, she thought, for trying to make this a game. "Come on, Handsome. Let's try it again."  
  
"Okay." He lined them up at the end of the hall, then started off just ahead of her. She followed. Eleven steps, and she stopped. She suddenly realized that she could tell she was at the edge of the larger room. The air currents changed from those in the hall. She could feel the space opening before her. "I'm there, right?"  
  
"Perfect."  
  
"Let me try it alone now." She turned around, gathered herself, and started forward. The hardest part was not shortening the strides. Eleven steps, and she reached to the left and felt the doorframe of their bedroom. She turned and did it again, stopping at the living room. "Getting better. That blackness will move when I walk into it."  
  
He came back over to her, squeezing her arms. "It's no match for you, Cal. And it will figure that out eventually. Now, halfway down the hall, there's the bathroom on the right when you're going this direction. That's at five steps. It'll be six steps coming from the other end." She started off, stopped at five, and put her hand out. There it was.  
  
"I can't believe I've lived here nearly a year, and I didn't know how far it was between things."  
  
"I know. We just take it for granted, don't we?" She turned around and took the five steps back to the living room, then took two more into the gaping space to where she could feel his presence. He hugged her securely, allowing her to rest against him like a ship in a safe harbor. They just stood there for a few minutes until the clock behind them struck noon. "Come on," said Horatio, hooking his arm through hers and heading for the kitchen. "We can't let Rosalind starve. Do you want to help me cook?"  
  
"No, I don't think I'm quite ready to tackle that yet."  
  
"Okay." He put her in touch with one of the chairs at the kitchen table, then kissed her forehead gently as she sat down. "Which one do you want to conquer after lunch? The bedroom or the living room?"  
  
"The bedroom," she said, remembering how lost she had been last night.  
  
"Fine. We might take a nap when we find the bed."  
  
"Horatio, I'm fine. Really."  
  
"You just got out of the hospital. And you're pregnant. Besides, we might not have many more opportunities for some uninterrupted time in bed with just the two of us."  
  
"You've got a point there." She rested her elbows on the hard, polished wood of the table and stared into the blackness, listening to him moving around the kitchen behind her. She did feel suddenly tired but better. It had taken them most of the morning to learn the clock and the hall, but she had at least learned also that the blackness would move with her, that it wasn't solid. I'll beat you, she promised it. We'll beat you. You've never met Horatio when he's determined about something. You can't measure up to him. The blackness didn't notice. Soon, she swore to herself, it would.  
  
***  
  
Speed and Eric were methodically going over Roger Claridge's office while Adele questioned his secretary in the outer room. Speed had switched on the computer and was looking for anything odd, while Eric was working his way through the desk drawers. They knew that this wasn't the crime scene, but it still might have valuable evidence.  
  
"Ugh," Speed grunted, scanning one document. "You know what's actually in cosmetics?"  
  
"I don't think I want to," Eric replied. He pulled out a notebook which seemed to list business expenses and flipped through it. "You know Claridge went out to eat as a business expense about three or four times every week? Don't companies get suspicious about this stuff?"  
  
"His supervisor probably was having his own affair on company budget," said Speed. "Makes you wonder why anyone bothers to get married."  
  
"It works sometimes," Eric protested. "My parents are close, even if my dad's a little stubborn. It works for Alexx. And what about Horatio and Calleigh? I never saw two people that crazy about each other, and marriage is just making it stronger." His voice trailed off as he did think about Calleigh. To distract himself, he said, "What about Breeze? Think there are any possibilities there? You've never dated one steady this long since I've known you."  
  
"Since you're the one who thinks marriage works, why don't I see you rushing to the altar?" Speed pointed out.  
  
"Different case there. I haven't found the right one yet. I really think you have, man."  
  
"Delko, would you. . . " Speed broke off as Eric whistled softly. "What is it?"  
  
"Look at this." It was one of those personal organizers. Eric had called up the latest notes on it. "Need more 1 ½ inch nails for tomorrow night," he read. "That's from Thursday."  
  
"So they had to be poisoned Thursday or Friday. If he bought them himself, when would someone else poison them?"  
  
"And how would somebody else know he was buying them that day? Maybe he had his secretary buy them for him when she was out getting other stuff. We ought to check the receipts in her desk."  
  
"Why would she kill him if they'd been happily having an affair for years?"  
  
Eric shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she wanted to get married and he wouldn't." He pulled out a micro cassette recorder from the top drawer. It had a post-it note across it saying, "Letter to attorney. Finish after finding file Monday." Eric ran it back a few seconds and played it. Claridge's voice filled the room. "Hell, I can't find it. Linda? Linda! Damn, must have already left." The sharp click of the recorder turning off echoed in the paneled office.  
  
"Might be interesting to listen to all of that," Speed said. "Especially if he was working on it Friday, and if he talked to himself like that all the time."  
  
Eric dropped it into an evidence envelope. "I'll run it back at the lab. Must have already left," he quoted. "Wonder if he means for the day or out on errands. Maybe she was doing errands Friday."  
  
"Let's check her desk. There's nothing on this computer except business stuff." Speed switched the monitor off, and they headed out.  
  
***  
  
Later that evening, Eric, Speed, and Alexx all came over to see Calleigh after work. She was glad of their company. Alexx was wonderful, acting like nothing at all had changed. The boys weren't as good at it, especially Speed, who wasn't articulate at best, but the message of support came through loud and clear. They even started talking over the case, with Eric and Speed in chorus explaining the nails. Calleigh had never heard of that as a murder method either. It almost seemed like old times, discussing the case together. Horatio agreed that the secretary was the best suspect this far, even thought her receipts from Friday's errand run made no mention of nails. The others all left about 9:30, and Horatio came back to sit next to Calleigh on the couch. She leaned against him gratefully. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine, just tired. I never thought a day walking around my house could be that wearing." She had the bedroom memorized now, though, and they were making progress with the living room.  
  
"Do you want to go to bed early, then?"  
  
"No, I'm not really sleepy. Just tired. And we did take a nap today." They sat there a little longer in companionable silence, then Horatio stood up.  
  
"Come on, Calleigh. I want to show you something." He pulled her up. She had noticed already that Horatio and Alexx still used the old phrases like show you something, while Eric and Speed bent over backwards to avoid them.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just wait." He pocketed his keys, then led her to the back sliding glass door and opened it. She felt the breeze straight off the ocean lift her hair and play with it. He locked the door behind them, then led her down the path to the beach. The sand shifted and compressed underfoot, and she was glad of the firm grip of his arm on hers. She would have hated to walk this path alone in the blackness.  
  
"Horatio, what are you doing?"  
  
"Almost there. Just a minute. Here, sit down." She sat down on the sand and felt the large rock against her back, suddenly realizing exactly where they were. Horatio sat down next to her.  
  
"This is our spot, Calleigh. It was right here that I asked you to share your life with me. I've loved this rock ever since." He leaned back against it himself, and it supported both of them, the perfect size for a back rest for two.  
  
She smiled. "I remember. No storm tonight, though." His proposal had been in a pounding rain that drenched them both. She had loved storms ever since.  
  
"Not outside," he replied. She considered his words silently. He put a warm arm around her, and she leaned against him. "We're good at surviving storms, Cal. We've never been shipwrecked yet."  
  
She propped her head against his shoulder, managing to do it so that those metal shields didn't bite into her cheek. "I'm scared, Horatio."  
  
"I know."  
  
"This is bigger than anything I've ever had to deal with."  
  
"It's not bigger than our connection to each other," he reminded her.  
  
"No," she agreed after a moment's hesitation. They sat there in silence for awhile. She had never realized how much the ocean invoked the other senses. She could hear the quiet waves lapping at the shore, even on this calm night. The sharp smell of salt water stung her nose, and she could even hear the cries of a distant bird.  
  
Horatio's voice started so smoothly that it almost seemed to continue her thoughts. "The waves are calm tonight. No storm, but there's a nice breeze coming in. The moon is about half full, and you can see it glowing on the waves. Makes them shimmer, like they're dancing at being kissed by the moonlight." He paused to give her a fluttering moonlight kiss himself, and she shivered in delight, like the waves. "Then, there are the stars. They're glorious tonight, Cal. It makes the sky look like an inverted bowl of diamonds. If you look at the whole sky, though, the biggest thing up there is the darkness. It's so much bigger than the stars, but they're stronger. They shine through it, and it can't stop them. And it's the contrast that makes them even more beautiful. The darkness is larger, but it doesn't win."  
  
She turned to him suddenly, flinging both arms tightly around him, burying her bandaged face in his chest. He held her tenderly and stroked her back as she simply let herself rest in the one thing that was larger than the blackness - the love. 


	4. Sight 4

And the conclusion. See part 1 for disclaimers, etc. I'm sure you've all guessed the particular happy ending that this story has, but I hope you've enjoyed the ride anyway. And I have put in a plot twist before we get there that I think might surprise you, even though I played fair and already set it up in previous chapters. For a look at the next FS story, see the preview at the end.  
  
Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to the person who read the entire series at one gulp on Wednesday night, all the way from Fearful Symmetry through Sight, and sent me one mass review of it. She prefers to keep a low profile, but she knows who she is. Thanks for a tremendous lift this week at a point where I really needed one. I'll imagine you lurking in enjoyment reading this and future fics.  
  
***  
  
"I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened."  
  
The Bible, Ephesians 1:18  
  
***  
  
Calleigh woke up suddenly from another dream of sight, descending reluctantly into the world she was now forced to inhabit. She had dreamed that she and Horatio were playing chase among the stars, hiding in the darkness momentarily but popping out behind stars as they unerringly found each other. The entire sky was their playground. Finally, their eyes brighter than any of the stars, they had settled contentedly in each other's arms on the moon and proceeded to eliminate anything at all that might still hide them from each other. She woke with her dream smile on her face, but even in the dream, it had been a wistful smile. She wished now that she had spent more time simply looking at him. Moonlight, starlight, soul light. He was beautiful in any setting.  
  
She reached out to her clock on the nightstand beside the bed and traced the hands with clumsy, inexperienced fingers. It was 4:00 AM. Horatio had already told her that he wouldn't go to work again today, and while she knew it couldn't last, she was glad. Yesterday had been a laboriously fulfilling accomplishment, but she still couldn't imagine doing it by herself.  
  
She slipped out from under the covers and turned to align herself precisely with the mattress. Three steps to the end of the bed, four beyond that to the dresser, and she managed to stop before she ran into it. She turned right as conscientiously as a soldier on parade drill and took four more steps, forcing herself to make them full-length. Left and two steps out the door, brushing the frame lightly with her fingers. Right again, six steps, and she was at the bathroom. The return journey simply reversed it all, and she was back at the bed. She climbed under the sheet and just lay there awake, enjoying the progress, still shrinking from the necessity. A warm hand suddenly enveloped her own under the sheet. Horatio squeezed her fingers in gentle support. She squeezed his back in grateful desperation, loving the feel of his hand, the strong but sensitive fingers, the delicacy of touch, most of all the connection that penetrated the blackness, just like the stars that punched through the darkness and shone anyway. Eventually, they fell asleep again, hand in hand.  
  
***  
  
Speed ambled into the sound lab where Eric was analyzing the microcassette. "Look at this," Speed said, tossing the notebook he had been studying onto the table, directly on top of the notes Eric was making.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Employee safety manual from the cosmetics company, but they could just title it How to Kill Enemies and Influence People."  
  
Delko read the indicated paragraph. "Potassium bromide is extremely poisonous if taken internally. Never touch your mouth while working around this chemical. Never put any item into your mouth that has been near this chemical. Items can be dipped into a solution of potassium bromide, which will then dry, and such items can appear dry and harmless but be fatal if inserted into the mouth. With proper precautions, however, there is no danger in simply handling this chemical." He looked up at Speed. "Every employee got this? Including the secretaries?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, it's practically a step-by-step guide."  
  
"CYA," said Eric. "The cover-your-ass principle. The company goes into so much detail so they can avoid liability if someone does die."  
  
Speed shrugged, reverting to his usual nonchalance. "I guess it doesn't matter. If you want to kill someone, you'll find a way. There are whole books about it. And Internet sites."  
  
"Yeah," Eric agreed. "I'll never look at cosmetics the same way again, though. You're lucky, man."  
  
"Why?" When he thought about it, which wasn't often, Speed didn't think of himself as lucky.  
  
"Breeze doesn't wear 18 layers of this junk. Low maintenance. You need somebody low maintenance."  
  
"Would everybody just leave me and Breeze alone?"  
  
"Gladly. Tell me your next date, so I'll know when not to bother you." He ducked as Speed grabbed the company employee manual and tried to hit him lightly upside the head with it.  
  
"What are you two doing?" Adele's voice interrupted them from the doorway. They broke apart as guiltily as two misbehaving schoolboys caught by the principal.  
  
"Um, processing evidence," said Speed.  
  
"Right. I take it Horatio isn't coming in today again."  
  
"Don't know what gave you that idea, but you're right," said Eric. Joking aside, he instantly became a conscientious CSI. "I've got something really interesting for you. This is from that tape in Claridge's desk. The one he was dictating on Friday." He hit play, and they all listened with growing interest.  
  
"As you mentioned in your letter of . . . oh, hell . . . nope, that's not it . . . maybe in this one . . . Did you want something, Linda?"  
  
"You already know what I want."  
  
"And you already know you won't get it. We had a great thing going for years, Linda. Still can, if you'd just listen to reason. Don't rock the boat. And I'm still your supervisor. Your review is coming up soon, you know. I'd hate to have any minor misunderstandings affect your continued employment. Now, as my secretary, which you still are at this point, did you want something?"  
  
"Just to let you know, I'm heading out for lunch, and I'll pick up those supplies we need after."  
  
"Fine. Oh, wait a minute. As long as you're going, swing by the hardware store and get me a box of 1 ½ inch nails. I ran out last night, and I need some more to finish up in the shop tonight."  
  
"So you're working in the shop tonight?"  
  
"Your choice, Linda. I'll leave you alone to make it."  
  
"Fine. I get your nails, and I hope you choke on them." The slam of the office door echoed dully on the tape.  
  
"Now, then, where was I? Oh, yeah . . . Hell, I can't find it. Linda? Linda! Damn, must have already left." The tape clicked off.  
  
"He must have had the recorder on his desk, and she didn't notice it was running," said Adele.  
  
"Sounds like enough for a warrant to me," Speed commented.  
  
"Me, too," Adele agreed. "Okay, I'll pull in Linda the secretary, and we'll get warrants for her place and her car, too. If we can match the car, or find the rest of that box of poisoned nails, we've got her cold."  
  
"You think she just threw away the poisoned nails? In her own trash can at her house?" Eric was dubious.  
  
"Eric," Adele reminded him, "how many times have we seen criminals throw away vital evidence in their own trash cans in their houses?"  
  
"All the time," he admitted. "I just keep expecting them to get smarter, sometimes."  
  
"They won't," said Speed. "Stupidity is the fixed constant of the universe."  
  
"And like Horatio says, murder is their first mistake," said Adele. "All the others come after." They all paused for a second, thinking of Horatio.  
  
"I wish they were here," said Eric. Adele and Speed nodded. It was a subdued group who left to get warrants.  
  
***  
  
Five steps, striding with uncertain, forced confidence into the blackness. Calleigh stopped and put out her hand, brushing the refrigerator door.  
  
"Perfect," said Horatio, behind her. "That's 100 steps. We've got every room in this house memorized now."  
  
"Just hope I don't tangle the numbers up," said Calleigh.  
  
"You won't. You're the one who can track 47 separate bullet trajectories at a shoot out. You're good with numbers."  
  
"You mean I could track them." Calleigh took four steps to him, hugging him to reassure herself.  
  
"You still can," said Horatio. "The ability is still there, even if you have to apply it to something else. You haven't changed, Calleigh. You may have to learn some things differently, but nothing about who you are has changed. The job didn't define you. You defined it." He held her securely, letting her feel sheltered for as long as she would accept it. When he felt her start to pull away after a few minutes, he loosened his grip.  
  
"I think I'd like to do this on my own. Just go around the house. Don't go anywhere, Horatio, but could you do something else for a bit? Something besides standing there watching me?"  
  
"You're asking a lot, but I'll try," he replied smoothly. "You're denying me my favorite pastime, though."  
  
She smiled at him. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you." He gave her arms a final supportive squeeze, then backed away, going back into the living room. Calleigh toured the kitchen again, reassuring herself that the counts were right, then headed down the hall. She turned right at the end, into the bedroom that would become the nursery. Lost in the thought, she started mentally replacing the furniture that was there. They would need a crib and baby furniture. And a rocking chair, of course. She remembered her mother rocking the children in her rocking chair. It was one of the few happy memories of Calleigh's childhood. Colors, she thought. We'll decorate it in something bright. Rosalind will have a happy childhood. Even her room won't be dark. Yellow, maybe. She was walking around with her hand on the wall, mentally placing butterfly decals, when she heard Horatio start playing the piano. She imagined rocking her child here, while Horatio played soft music from the other room, lulling the baby to sleep. Lost in happy contemplation, she forgot the furniture that actually was here now and banged her leg sharply on a nightstand as she turned the corner. A minor fault line rippled through the music, but it never broke it apart into silence. Horatio just kept playing, and she smiled again. A man who would hold her when she needed to be held and who would let her run into the furniture on her own in the dark when she needed to do that. Horatio, she thought for the hundredth time, I think you're perfect.  
  
He switched songs, and she froze suddenly in the middle of the nursery-to- be. It was the theme from Ice Castles, "Looking through the Eyes of Love." She remembered what he had told her in the hospital, that she would see her daughter with a mother's eyes, even if not physically. For the first time, she truly believed it. She could still see Rosalind and Horatio with the eyes of her heart, even if this blackness was permanent. And she could adapt to life like this, if she had to. But every inch of her slight frame prayed that it wouldn't be necessary. I don't want to, she thought. I think I could do it, but please, God, I don't want to. Give me another chance, and I will never take it for granted again.  
  
She suddenly wanted to be close to Horatio again. She exited the room and took the eleven steps down the hall, then angled slightly right and took eight more to the piano. The music stopped as she approached, although she did notice, with an inward smile, that he resolved the chord. He couldn't stand to leave music simply hanging, uncompleted. "Don't stop," she urged. "Play it again for me, Horatio."  
  
He started playing the song again, and she stood there with one hand on his shoulder, listening. She abruptly slipped onto the piano bench alongside him, and he slid over a fraction without breaking the music, giving her room. He did hesitate slightly when she reached out and put her hands lightly on top of his. "Go ahead," she said. "I want to feel it." He started playing again, and she left her hands on his, not interfering with his fingers but feeling the interplay of muscles and tendons beneath her hands. So much going on beneath the surface, so much effort and practice to produce the smooth, completed melody. Love was like this. And like this, love was beautiful. She stayed there for a long time just sitting beside him, feeling the music through his hands as well as hearing it, enjoying the process as well as the result. Horatio finally stopped playing, moving his arm away from the keyboard to put it around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. They sat there together on the bench in the darkness and the silence, and the music went on.  
  
***  
  
Adele wished for Horatio. Calleigh too, of course, but she especially wished for Horatio now. She was questioning Linda, breaking her slowly by confronting her with the evidence. Speed and Eric were interested watchers, but nobody topped Horatio at manipulating a witness with courteous, deadly accuracy into sudden awareness of the solidity of the trap. He could break down witnesses no one else could make progress with. Adele was making progress with Linda, but Horatio would have had the confession already. She didn't realize it, but Speed and Eric were both thinking the same thing.  
  
"So we can prove that your car was at the workshop and at the ditch where the body was dumped. We can prove that the killer had your brand of fingernail polish on. And we can prove that the nails were thrown away at your house. There's enough here for an arrest, even if you aren't talking."  
  
"Arrest me then," Linda said.  
  
"We can also prove that you had an affair with him for years." Adele leaned forward slightly, facing the other woman. "What I can't understand is why. What changed, Linda?"  
  
Linda's expression shifted there slightly, briefly. Something had changed. Adele took a stab in the dark. "Linda, are you pregnant?" Linda studied her hands, not looking up. "It's easy enough to confirm. We can get a medical exam."  
  
"Okay, then, I'm pregnant." It would be hard to hide the fact.  
  
"Do you want the baby?" Linda's eyes lit up briefly before the shutters slammed across them again. Yes, she wanted the baby. "Did he want the baby?"  
  
"He didn't care." Linda almost spit out the words, the sudden venom in her voice startling Speed and Eric. "He said I could get an abortion if I liked, and he would pay. Or go ahead and have it, but he wasn't going to acknowledge it. He said he would get me fired."  
  
"You can prove paternity, Linda. There are absolute tests nowadays. He would have had to support the child if you pushed it."  
  
Linda continued, the tirade coming out like a flood bursting through a dam. "He was too comfortable, he said. He didn't want anything in his life to change. Nice, undemanding wife. Nice fulfilling job. Nice secretary for an affair on the side. I asked him to marry me. He had always said he would some day."  
  
Adele suddenly realized the motive. Not the child, but the scornful dismissal. "He laughed at you."  
  
Linda looked up, startled, her eyes meeting the detective's. "Yes. He laughed at me. And that day, I'd been making copies of the employee manual for a new group of hires. When he asked me to get him the nails, it just jumped out at me. I watched," she added. "I parked down the street, and I was at the window of that shop in the dark, watching. When he fell, I went in the door and stood there, and I laughed at him. He died watching me laughing at him." Her shoulders slumped slightly as her energy ran out with the last of her words.  
  
Adele stood up. Thinking of Horatio again, she used one of his favorite lines to a criminal, although she could never reproduce his delivery. "I hope it was worth it."  
  
Linda stared at her hands, looking at the end futility of her actions. "No," she said softly. "I thought it would be. I took a calculated risk. But it wasn't." She didn't say anything else as the guard stepped forward and the handcuffs snapped into place.  
  
Speed and Eric stayed in the interrogation room for a minute after Adele and the guard escorted Linda out. "Remind me never to laugh at a woman again," said Eric.  
  
"Hell hath no fury," Speed quipped, but it wasn't a joke, and his tone acknowledged that. They were both more subdued than usual as they returned to the lab.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh and Horatio were doing the dishes after supper, Calleigh in front, Horatio behind her, his hands over hers now in the dishwater, guiding her fingers. They finished the last plate, rinsed it, and added it to the drainer. Calleigh turned around, her back against the sink, and buried herself in him. He held her tightly. "We'll get there, Cal."  
  
"I know," she said. "I think I can now. But I don't want to."  
  
"I'd take it for you if I could," he said.  
  
She thought of his beautiful eyes darkened forever. "No. I'd rather have it be me."  
  
"Hopefully, it won't have to be either of us."  
  
She pulled away from him and carefully walked into the living room, finding the couch. "What do we do tomorrow? Where's the next 100 steps?"  
  
He sat down beside her, putting his arm around her. "In the morning, let's go jogging."  
  
She gasped slightly. "You're kidding." No, he wasn't. "No, you're not."  
  
"I'll bet that blackness gives way even faster when you run into it. Maybe we can scare it off totally." He squeezed her shoulders. "I'll be with you."  
  
"I know." They sat there in silence for a few minutes. "Horatio, will you leave me alone?"  
  
"Never," he said instantly.  
  
"What I meant . . ."  
  
"I know what you meant," he replied. "I'll go somewhere else for a while, if you think you're ready. But I'll never leave you alone."  
  
Her spirit cringed at the prospect. Perversely, that convinced her even more to try it. "I'd just like to try being here by myself for a little bit. Just a few hours."  
  
"I could go down to CSI. Make sure the lab is still there."  
  
She grinned. "If you go to CSI, make sure you remember to come home in a few hours."  
  
"No worries. That lab can't hold a candle to you, Cal." He squeezed her once again, then stood up. "You sure you're ready for this?"  
  
"I'd like to try it before we go jogging. Just for a few hours. And I can call you if I need you."  
  
"Okay." He kissed her thoroughly, then broke away. "That blackness can't hold a candle to you either, Cal. It's already beaten."  
  
"I know," she said, at least a quarter of the way to believing it. She heard him moving around, gathering his keys, and then she heard the door shut behind him as he left, echoing hollowly in her heart. Calleigh stood up and toured the house again. Everything was still there. Deliberately, she turned off all of the lights. Not that it made any difference to her, but she felt like it would keep her from totally facing that blackness. Once the lights were all off, she sat down on the couch again and stared defiantly at the blackness. "I will beat you," she said aloud. "I can do this." But she still didn't want to.  
  
***  
  
Horatio entered CSI, but he felt split, like his heart was really back with Calleigh. He avoided Ballistics and headed through the lab, pausing in Trace. Speed was wrapped up in processing some evidence, his headphones on, totally oblivious. Horatio flowed up silently behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
As many times as he did it, the effect never grew less. Speed nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around so quickly he jerked the cord of his headphones out of the CD player. "H, one of these days, you're going to get killed sneaking up behind people like that."  
  
"Hasn't happened yet. How are things?"  
  
"Pretty quiet the last few days. Floater yesterday. Two guys had a fight over a woman, and one of them decided to win permanently. And we finished the ditch case today. How's Calleigh?"  
  
"She's doing a little better. She wanted to be alone for a few hours." He looked around the labs. "This place wouldn't be the same without her."  
  
"No," Speed agreed.  
  
"You said you finished the ditch case?"  
  
"Yeah, it was the secretary. Claridge got her pregnant, and when she wanted him to marry her, he laughed at her."  
  
Horatio winced slightly. "That's been the motive for a lot of murders. People can't stand to be discounted."  
  
"She actually called it a calculated risk, when Adele was questioning her. Can you believe that? Deciding to murder your boss, and she called it taking a calculated risk, just because she saw how she could do it."  
  
Horatio shook his head. "If there's one thing I'd like to convince people of, it would be the value of life. Murder isn't taking a calculated risk. It's taking a life."  
  
"Pretty pathetic life. Not that I'm siding with her, but Claridge doesn't seem like he benefited the world much."  
  
"People can change, though. Even if they don't choose to change, they at least deserve the opportunity." He suddenly thought of Calleigh. "And sometimes circumstances change your life for you."  
  
Speed followed his thoughts easily. "Like Calleigh."  
  
"Right. But it's still valuable. Even when it's changed, like Calleigh, or like Phillip, every second of that life is a gift. We have no right to waste it. We certainly have no right to take it." He stood there for a minute in silence, and Speed didn't try to break it. Horatio's thoughts finally returned to his body. "I'll be up in my office. Don't work too late, Speed. I'm sure you have better things to do." He turned away and headed for the stairs.  
  
Speed finished processing his sample, but he didn't put the headphones back on, choosing to listen to his thoughts for once instead. Horatio's words repeated in his mind like an evidence tape for analysis. "Every second of that life is a gift. We have no right to waste it." He thought of Calleigh again, forced into change. It had happened so quickly. It could happen so quickly. His hands on autopilot, he finished filling out the evidence record, then pulled out his cell phone. He hesitated for a second before calling. This isn't about calculated risks, he reminded himself. It's about life. He dialed. "Breeze. I know we're on for Friday, but are you doing anything tonight? Great, neither am I. Just didn't want to waste it."  
  
***  
  
Calleigh woke up abruptly with the cold certainty that something was wrong. She had stared at the blackness until it turned its impassive back toward her, then curled up on the couch and gradually drifted off to sleep. She lay there on the couch completely still, trying to place what had awakened her.  
  
The sound came again. A low scratch from the door, and it slowly, softly opened. She instantly knew it wasn't Horatio. This was a stranger. He paused in the door, and Calleigh shrank back against the couch as she imagined him looking around in the circle of his flashlight. He hadn't turned on the lights; she would have heard the click of the switch. For once, the blackness was her ally. It concealed her in the shadow of the couch. She forced herself to keep her breathing quiet.  
  
The stranger stepped forward, his survey complete. He went to the entertainment center and started to unhook the VCR. Calleigh silently swung her feet to the floor and stood up behind him. Three steps to the left, and she found the heavy-based table lamp. She followed the cord to the wall socket, unplugged it, then turned back. Five steps to the entertainment center, but she deleted one, allowing for the man kneeling in front of it. She stopped behind him, still concealed by the blackness, lined up her shot by listening to his breathing, and brought the lamp crashing down on his head. He dropped like a rock and lay still. She quickly turned. Four steps to the window, and she found the curtain tie. Four steps back. She knelt on his back, quickly bringing his hands around, tying them efficiently in the curtain tie. When she was done, she stood up, and laughter suddenly burst out of her like water from a fire hydrant. She felt almost giddy. Finally, the spasm of delight at being useful ran itself out. She crossed to the kitchen (eight steps, slightly left), found the phone, and oriented her fingers briefly before dialing.  
  
He answered on the first ring. "Hi, Beautiful. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," she said. Suddenly, she was laughing again. "Horatio, I think you'd better come home, though. I just caught the Miami cat burglar."  
  
Horatio called 911, but he beat the police there. Calleigh was still laughing when he came in.  
  
***  
  
"Now," said the doctor, "I want you to close your eyes. I'll take the shields and the bandages off, and then, you need to open them slowly. If you can see, it may hurt at first. Be prepared for it."  
  
She would welcome the pain, found herself hoping for it. Two weeks of this hadn't driven her crazy, as she had feared, but she still would trade in the blackness for pain any day. Even if the pain wasn't temporary. "Horatio?"  
  
"Right here." He was seated in the chair on her left.  
  
"I know where you are, silly. I want you to move. Get in front of me. I want you to be the first thing I see. Or don't see, if that's what happens. Either way, I'd rather have it be you than him. No offense, Doctor."  
  
The doctor chuckled. "None taken." Calleigh heard Horatio get up and move in front of her as the doctor shifted over slightly. His hands started freeing the end of the tape with painfully slow medical precision. "Even if you can't see right now, we should have a much better idea of the long term prognosis. It still could come back. We can at least assess damage much better now, even if it isn't healed yet. Are your eyes shut?"  
  
"Yes," said Calleigh. Her hands clenched in anticipation. Horatio's hands reached out through the blackness to cover them. She felt the cold metal light shields come free, then the final pressure from the last layer of bandages left her eyes.  
  
"Now, open your eyes slowly."  
  
She opened them. The pain hit almost before the light. Sharp, bright, stabbing pain, and she welcomed it, reveled in it. She opened her eyes the rest of the way, and gradually, the bright glare decreased, and the world solidified, even if it was still a bit blurry. Horatio's eyes were the first things she clearly saw, looking back at hers. She had been given another chance to appreciate them. She launched herself out of her own chair toward him, and he squeezed her tightly. She did not bury her face against him. Instead, she studied every inch of his face, discovering him all over again, realizing that she had never lost sight of him at all, not even the last two weeks. She felt the tears of joy welling up in her eyes, and this time, she was able to cry.  
  
*** ***  
  
On the next episode of CSI Miami: Fearful Symmetry: First of all, Calleigh does NOT have her baby. I repeat, Calleigh does NOT have her baby. I can't just put in a "9 months later" note. Like real parents the world over, we will be kept waiting for a while. Probably not for nine months, but there are four stories of pregnancy to get through before the fifth story. That fifth one, where Cal does have her baby, is called "Complications," and as it develops, it is rapidly becoming my favorite in the series since the Hopes and Fears. A nice, long, twisted plot, multiparter with complications of all sorts. You will have to wait for it, though. Four other stories in the series first.  
  
So what does happen in the next story? You will be introduced to the series within the series. Actually, I've already slipped it in, but you will realize it next story. It's an angst free (I swear), one part piece of fluff that will give us a chance to catch our collective breaths after Framed and Sight and before . . . um, well, after Framed and Sight. Pure fluff up next. However, it is only a one parter. I can't seem to do multipart fluff. You'll like the subseries idea, though, I hope. Stay tuned. 


End file.
